Flightless Bird
by eyeslikethecosmos
Summary: The untold story of Valka, the future wife and mother of chiefs. Follows her childhood, adolescence, romances, and tragedies. She was always an odd one, in personality and in looks. But there is something special about her that catches the eye of a certain young man, if only she knew what that something was.
1. The Final Exam

The only mirror in the house was a small, oval one in her parent's bedroom. The glass was discolored, giving everything a bronze tint, but the border of tiny pearls glistened as if they had just been recently polished. It had been a part of her mother's bridal trunk, an heirloom from her mother. No doubt Valka would inherit the treasure upon her own marriage, if she lived that long that was. The thought made her brows furrow as her sea green eyes stared back at her in the glass.

"You're thinking about something," her mother broke the silence with her low, soothing voice. Her hands continued to work on the elaborate braid she wove into her daughter's hair. Valka sighed, straightening, relaxing the muscles of her face.

"It's nothing mum."

Her mother, Ursula, hummed, unconvinced. "I know what it is."

"Oh?"

"You're worried about your brother."

"Oh."

Ursula's skilled, deft fingers tied off the long plait. Valka hadn't even noticed she was finished.

"Don't worry about him Vally. You know he wouldn't have been chosen if he hadn't been the best in his class."

"I'm not worried, really." Valka stood up, facing her mother.

Ursula cocked a brow at her daughter. "It'll be over soon enough Valka. I know how much you hate going near the Kill Ring, but you have to be there today. It's your brother's graduation after all."

"I know mum, I know."

"Just squeeze my hand if you get frightened-"

"Ursula! Valka! Are you girls ready yet?" The booming voice of Smitelout Jorgenson called from the lower floor of their cottage. Valka involuntarily tensed, knowing that the hour was approaching.

"Coming Smite, just finishing up Valka's hair!"

"Well come along then! Spite's already gone up. You've already missed wishing him luck!"

Ursula rolled her gray eyes, "As if he needs any luck."

Despite her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Valka managed a small smile.

* * *

Valka tightened her hold on her mother's hand as her father led them through the crowd. Cheers and chants arose for the graduate and his family; Smitelout could barely move a foot before having some drunken Viking clapping him on the shoulder, or shaking his hand. Around the circumference of the sunken Kill Ring, a cry of Spitelout's name erupted from the spectators that had a view of him waiting by the gate. Naturally the family was given a front row view at the base of the chief's stone perch, and they were even given a bench to sit on…not that they would be sitting. Smitelout grinned proudly and waved to the crowd as they reached their seats. Valka and Ursula sat down tensely. They were so close to the chains and the drop of the pit, Valka felt as though the vibrations from the roaring crowd would send them toppling forward. She grimaced and clutched her mother's hand.

"Ah! Smitelout!" A man, Pappy Thorston to the children of Berk, smacked her father on his back. "This is a grand day for you isn't it? He takes after you now doesn't he? A chip off the old block?"

"Ah yes, and his mother too! Gods she must be so proud."

Valka notice her mother's lips tighten.

"Oh yeah! Thorgrima, Gods what a fighter she was."

At that moment, Pappy Thorston noticed the two females sitting beside Smitelout. He was an old, wiry man with clear blue eyes and a limp mop of brittle white hair. He was known to wander around Berk, passing out sweets to children and telling tales of Vikings long gone. How he had managed to live into his seventies, no one knew, but he would often offer crazy theories, even crazier than some of Gothi's remedies.

"Good morning Ursula. And little Valka! You must be excited for your brother's big moment."

Valka nodded slightly, inching closer to her mother.

"Well, I'll be off. Enjoy the fight. Take care Thorgrima-"

"Ursula," Smitelout corrected firmly.

"Oh yes, Ursula. Take care."

The tension between her parents was tangible. Despite having been married for nearly twelve years, a lot of Berkians still called Ursula by her predecessor, Thorgrima's, name. Valka had heard some about her, mainly how she struck fear into the hearts of enemies with her shrill battle cry; how she wielded a double headed axe with an artistic precision. Her name was legend in the Kill Ring, for having the fastest final exam in Berk history, surpassing Smitelout's…even surpassing the chief's son's.

Finally, the crowd hollered as the gate to the arena lifted, and Spitelout paraded in with his hands raised, receiving the cheers. Their father had had new armor commissioned, as well as a helmet with spiral horns. He picked up a long broadsword, testing its balance in his hand, only to find it perfect.

He extended his free hand up in their direction, his blue eyes focused on Valka. She smiled timidly, but did not let go of her mother's hand to wave.

Valka had not even noticed the two girls sitting near them, but could hear them giggle.

"Oh look Lundy, he's waving at you!" The blonde haired Odina nudged her friend Lundy Maelstrom playfully. Lundy's cheeks turned as she fiddled with her hair.

"Shut up Dina! He is not!"

The girls continued to giggle, in a way only thirteen year old girls could. Valka rolled her eyes. Lundy could not be more obvious in her affections for Spitelout. It was sickening.

Suddenly, the crowd grew silent, before the ominous cracking of the gate being lifted echoed throughout the ring. Spitelout stood firm, a crooked grin on his face even as the orange Monstrous Nightmare emerged from his pen, smoke billowing from its maw.

They stared at each other, the Viking youth and the dragon, before Spitelout charged.

If you asked Spitelout, this was certainly not his first kill. The stories changed frequently: he had taken down a Gronkle, managed to decapitate both heads of a Zippleback at the same time, and even survived a Deadly Nadder poisonous spike to the gut, displaying the scar to prove it. Valka knew the true story behind that scar, how the idiot had mishandled their father's spear when he was twelve and nearly died from his injury.

Despite Valka's constant reminders not to embellish his tales, Spitelout always rolled his eyes, tugging playfully on her braids: "Come on Vally, you gotta make them love you _and_ fear you if you want to make a name for yourself."

Her mother gasped in fright: Spitelout had just jumped out of the way of the dragon's long jaws. Valka could hear him laughing, raising his sword to the crowd, enjoying putting on a show.

"Get on with it boy!" Someone called out. Everyone around them was getting anxious for blood. Someone said that this was the longest final exam ever, but Valka couldn't argue. While other children religiously attended the yearly final exam, Valka had never been to one, save for this one. Though she dare not admit it to anyone, she felt sorry for the poor dragons; how could they possibly defend themselves enough to make it an equal fight? Sure, the Monstrous Nightmare could set itself on fire, the Nadder had its spikes…but without the space to fly…

"Thatta boy Spitey!" Her father hollered beside her, cheering on his eldest with wild abandon. "C'mon pin down the head, that's it, that's it-!"

Valka looked just in time to see her brother lower the blade into the Nightmare's neck, severing its spinal cord, killing it instantly. The cheers of the crowd vibrated across the stone beneath her feet, yet Valka couldn't hear a thing.

The elders flocked into the ring, hoisting Spitelout up onto their shoulders. Gothi hobbled in against her cane, accompanied by the village leader. The chief, Frey the Grey, personally congratulated Spitelout, throwing his arm up into the air. Her brother whooped.

"Spitelout, Spitelout oy oy oy!"

"He did it! He did it!" Lundy cheered near them, tears in her eyes.

"Of course he did it dummy!" Odina scoffed, though she still applauded as wildly as everyone else.

"Come on, let's go down!" Smitelout grinned, taking his wife and daughters' hands.

Valka's feet turned to lead. "What? Oh daddy, no, don't-"

"Valka c'mon lass. The chief will be wanting to speak with the champion's family."

"Can't we do it somewhere else?"

"Don't be ridiculous-"

"Smite," her mother began, her gray eyes falling on her daughter. "She's frightened."

"Nonsense! Nothing for the lass to be frightened of! Jorgensons aren't cowards!"

Valka clung tighter to her father's arm, feeling her mother's kitchen worn hands pat the top of her head. They paraded in to the ring; a majority of the surrounding crowd had already begun their trek to Mead Hall for a victory feast and celebratory drink. Frey the Grey continued to shake hands with Spitelout, whose chest puffed out farther with every breath.

"A fine job boy, a good clean job too. Ah." the chief turned towards them, beaming. He was a massive man with an equally massive grey beard. Supposedly it had been fiery red in his youth, but now it looked like a pile of ashes against his chin. "Smitelout, you must be proud of your boy."

"Immensely Chief. He's a warrior, no doubt about that."

"And Ursula, what a great day this is."

"Aye Chief," her mother bowed her head respectfully.

The chief's eyes turned towards Valka. Try as she might, she could not shrink farther behind her father. "And who is this young sprout?"

Her father nudged her forward; she tripped. "Chief, this is my daughter, Valka."

"Ah yes! Valka! You must be, what, five? Six?"

"Ten…" Valka grumbled, quickly adding, "Sir!"

"Ten! Why are you so small and skinny lass? Ursula, have you been feeding this girl enough of your delicious cooking?"

"Three days a meal Chief, but she's still as spindly as a willow branch."

"Ah, well, they can't all be warriors like this one." The chief patted Spitelout on the back. "That was one of the finest final exams I have ever seen-"

"Oh, but I disagree father."

A low, stern voice entered the ring, interrupting the jovial mood. Turning, Valka saw the largest man she had ever laid eyes on strut into the ring. Taller than Spitelout, taller than her father, even taller than the chief with shoulders that could knock down a doorframe. His arms were nothing but muscles, his hands were as wide as dinner plates, clenching and unclenching by his solid waist.

His body announced his presence as a man, but his face…his soft green eyes and rounded nose…the stubble that barely coated his chin…he was not a man but a _boy_. A boy's face on a man's body! Valka could have laughed had she not been so frightened.

"Stoick!" Frey moved towards the stranger, reaching just past his shoulder. They embraced, smacking each other on the back. Above her, Valka's parents whispered.

"Frey's son, the heir of Berk!" Her father gasped.

"Smitelout, Ursula, you remember my son Stoick?"

Her mother smiled sweetly, "Of course Chief! Back from your voyage so soon Stoick?"

Stoick laughed, a booming chuckle that made his belly shake. "Three years is hardly soon enough, but it was a fine trip; a grand adventure. Father, I have much to show you-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa wait a minute…" Spitelout interrupted, his dark brows furrowed. Valka had never known Spitelout's mother, but evidently he resembled her greatly, especially when angered. "You can't just come in here and critique my victory like that!"

"Spitelout!" Their father hissed. "That is the Chief's _son_ …"

"Chief's son or not. I just took down a Monstrous Nightmare with a _sword_!"

"Seems to me like you paraded around a Monstrous Nightmare with a sword," Stoick responded with a grin. "How long did it take you Spitelout? Fifteen minutes? Twenty? In a real battle you would have been dead by the time you had access to its neck like that. It would have called out to its friends for help and you would have been roasted for their supper. It's not about the showmanship, it's about the killing."

"And what exactly do you know about killing dragons? You haven't been on this island for three years! You haven't even been in dragon training!"

Stoick beamed haughtily as his father answered for him.

"That's because my boy here killed his first dragon when he was seven. He strangled it with a clothesline before spilling its brains out with his hammer."

Spitelout's face turned white, ashy. His pale eyes narrowed as he scoffed, suddenly silent.

"Aye, you start them young enough, they'll be ready in no time." Frey added. Valka felt every pair of eyes fall on her, including the strange behemoth of a young man, who spoke to her quietly, gently, a tone she did not know someone his size could make.

"You're Valka, aren't you?"

Valka nodded. Her father nudged her forward, too close to the chief's son for her liking.

"How old are you Valka?"

"Ten…sir…"

"It'll be your turn in the ring soon enough. We need more warriors you know, more fighters."

"But I'm…I'm not big enough sir…I'll never be…"

"You may be yet, but it's not just about being big." He pointed a finger as long as her entire hand towards her head. "You gotta be smart too, and you have that look about you. Are you smart, lass?"

"I…yes…sir…I can read sir…"

"You will want to read the 'Book' then, study up. It's not just about putting on a show." His cool green eyes darted up, no doubt falling on her brother. "Don't doubt yourself girl."

With that, Stoick nodded to the remainder of her family, bowing slightly towards his father. He turned on his heels, marching back towards the gate with his head held high. He had the thickest red hair Valka had ever seen, done up in a sloppy braid at the nape of his neck, so stiff that it stuck out straight against the rim of his helmet. Valka suddenly felt strangely self-conscious.

If her brother couldn't even impress the future Chief of Berk, how in Hel was she ever going to?


	2. Odd One

Ursula Jorgenson stared up at her daughter, a long low sigh escaping from her lips.

"This is the third pair of pants I've had to make you this year."

Valka shifted, uncomfortable at her mother's scrutiny.

"I can't help growing mum."

"Oh I know love, I know…but it's just happened so _fast_ …" She bit her lip, placing the measuring rod next to her daughter, before realizing in vexation that it was too short. "Your brother grew a lot too…but he managed to keep it to a pair of pants a year," she paused before adding, "at least with length."

Valka giggled.

"But you still don't have that problem do you?"

"Mum!"

"Good thing you wear your hair long or else people will mistake you for a boy."

Valka felt the flood of heat reaching her cheeks. "Mum…"

Ursula winked, "We'll see if you take after me." She gestured to her ample bosom, prompting Valka to groan.

" _MUM_!"

Over the past few months, Valka had noticed her mother becoming more and more candid with her about certain things. Boys, clothes and, unfortunately, bodies. Ursula had enlisted Valka's help more around the house, with cooking and cleaning. She even managed to get her sewing, though she often became distracted, skipping stitches and leaving gaps. Throughout it all Ursula managed to be patient. Truthfully her daughter was, well, terrible at the domestic arts.

Valka knew it, no matter how well her mother hid it.

"So," Ursula straightened, finally satisfied with her measurements. "Brown or gray."

"We don't have any blue left?"

"Blue is expensive. Spitelout needed it for his new tunic. All that's left are scraps."

"You could add the blue to the bottom of these," she gestured to the ankle length pants she wore.

"I won't have my daughter walking around with patchwork clothes. As long as these hands are able to sew, the clothes I make will be as neat as can be."

"Oh come on mum, maybe it'll be a new fashion statement."

Ursula ignored her, though she stared at her daughter's shining eyes.

"I could get some green cloth. I heard that Wartskin has a big stockpile of it. Would you like that?"

"No, brown is fine mum. Really."

"Suit yourself," Ursula stood up, retreating to her trunk where she kept her fabrics. "I'll have these done in a day if nothing else pops up. In the meantime maybe you ought to wear that dress-"

"But I can't do anything in a dress!"

"You have leggings don't you? Come on now, go and be a lady for once."

Valka huffed, knowing better than to argue with her mother. She was the one person on the island who would actually listen to her. "Fine. Should I braid flowers in my hair too?"

Ursula glanced up, smiling slyly. "I said a lady, not a nitwit."

With a snorting laugh Valka retreated up the stairs to her room. It was tiny, more of a closet than anything else, but it was where Valka truly felt at ease. Her walls were decorated with scraps of parchment covered in intricate doodles of wildlife or the daily happenings of Berk. Up on her shelf above her bed was an old ratty stuffed sheep that her mother had made for her as a baby, a jar full of seashells that she had collected as a child, and her sketchbook. In the corner was a small cabinet where she kept her clothes—sparse now due to her growth spurt. With a sigh, she took out the gray colored knee length dress and a pair of mud brown leggings.

Once dressed, Valka laid down on her belly and reached beneath the pallet of her bed. Her fingers brushed against something large and leathery that she pulled out to examine: The Book of Dragons.

She smiled. Spitelout had managed to get her an old copy for her thirteenth birthday.

"So when you go into the ring, you already know more than Gobber," he had winked.

Of course she had pretended to be interesting in the maiming of dragons, but her real fascination in the book came with the illustrations. The creatures depicted on the aged pages were so mesmerizing and vastly different from one another. The Skrill, the Changewing, the Whispering Death. Even the Terrible Terrors enchanted her with their bulbous eyes and tiny bodies. She smiled, running her fingers against the pages, imagining she could feel their scales, feel the warmth of their internal flame…

"No," she said sharply, shutting the book. "Stop it."

She shoved the book back beneath her bed and stomped from her room and down the stairs.

* * *

"Oooh, someone has a date!"

She hadn't even noticed her brother lingering in the kitchen, the drumstick of a chicken in his mouth.

" _Oooh…_ shut it Spitelout." Valka growled back.

He smirked, chewing away at the dark meat with ghastly manners. Valka grimaced, before she noticed what he was wearing.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be wearing that tunic!"

"So?"

"You're going to get grease all over it."

Spitelout rolled his eyes. Sure enough he was wearing the elaborate bright blue tunic her mother had made for him in honor of his upcoming voyage. A few of the young villagers were traveling abroad to various other islands in the Archipelago to discuss battle tactics, partnerships and, of course, dragons. Spitelout was invited by Stoick the Vast himself, along with other youths such as Hoark, Aron Hofferson, and Glum Thornton. Frey the Grey had planned the voyage, proudly proclaiming it to be the first test for the next generation of Berkians.

"Five young Viking men on a month long sailing trip," her mother had said, "what could possibly go wrong?"

"It's still clean," Spitelout insisted with a mouthful of meat. He finished his snack disgustingly fast, tossing the bone out the kitchen window. "Gotta impress the ladies."

"Ugh, you're vile."

He ignored her. "So why are you dressed up?"

"Well it's not for a date," Valka plopped herself down in an armchair, tossing her long legs over the arms. "Mum is making me a new pair of pants and won't have me going around in clothes that are too short."

"Why not? Gobber does it all the time."

"So you want me to be compared to Gobber?"

"Eh, you both smell the same."

"Spitelout!"

Her brother erupted into the laughter. "Kidding Vally, kidding. I know you love wash day. Relax."

She crossed her arms, glaring at him fiercely.

"You say goodbye to Lundy yet?"

"No, why would I?"

"Because she's absolutely mad about you?"

Spitelout blinked once, twice, before sticking his tongue out. "That's gross."

"It's true!"

"And who told you that?"

"I'm not an idiot, Spitelout. It's as obvious as Gobber's belly button lint."

"Thank you for putting that image in my mind." He shivered. "Lundy's just a kid."

"Sixteen is not 'just a kid.'"

"Says the kid."

Valka kicked herself up off the chair with a sigh. "You're hopeless." She marched over to the door, pulling on her boots that laid haphazardly beside it. "I'm going for a walk."

"Don't forget about the feast tonight!"

The door slamming behind her was her response.

* * *

While most people would head towards the center of the village, Valka turned towards the forest. She had no interest in being stared at today, or any day for that matter. The villagers always found something to gawk at her for.

 _Such a skinny thing._

 _How is she related to Smite and Spite?_

 _Would rather read than train._

 _She's a pretty thing, but odd._

It was a constant chorus that surrounded her. Things had not been so bad when she was little. There had been hope then, a hope that her muscles would grow, that she would develop the bloodlust that all the other children eventually displayed. Everyone expected great things from her: she was the daughter of Smitelout, one of Berk's finest warriors, and the sister of Spitelout, a boy who had quickly risen through the ranks. So far, all she turned out to be was a disappointment.

"I bet it's her mother's blood," she had heard someone whisper once before. "Smitelout married a softy. What a shame that Thorgrima died-"

She had wanted to slap whoever spoke such things about her mother. She remembered fighting back tears, running back to her house and retreating up into her parent's bedroom. Frantic, she had dug through her father's things until she found what she was looking for: a miniature portrait of her father's first wife.

Thorgrima was a legend, and not just for her record final exam time. Her name still struck fear in the hearts of Berk's enemies. Every battle she entered she walked away unscathed except for one…childbirth. Spitelout had been two when his mother passed away; the baby had been a stillborn boy. The entire village had wept out of sympathy for the Jorgenson family, and out of grief for losing such a skilled fighter.

When Spitelout had been four, his father had married Valka's mother. The marriage was a happy and successful one, but that could not stop people from talking.

Looking at the miniature of Thorgrima holding her double headed axe, Valka had realized how much her brother resembled his mother. They had the same dark hair, the same pale blue eyes, even the same cockiness in their grins. Valka wanted to throw the portrait in her anger, but could not.

Her mother had found her hunched over the trunk with tears in her eyes. Valka had had so many questions, but the only word she could find was: why?

"Your father loved Thorgrima very much. I remember her well. Not the friendliest, but she was always the first to volunteer for a mission or battle. Very serious…" she had sighed, running her fingers through Valka's auburn hair. "On this island, men can have one of two wives: the shield maiden, or the housewife. Thorgrima was the shield maiden, and I am the housewife. Let me ask you, does your father seem unhappy?"

Valka had shook her head.

"He couldn't care less that I'd rather wield a kitchen knife than a sword. He protects me and provides for me; he gave me two children I love with all my heart, even if one isn't of my own blood. He knew what I was like before I married him, and that didn't scare him at all. If a man loves you, truly loves you, he'll let you be whatever it is you are."

But what man could love Valka?

Traipsing her way through the woods, she kicked at rocks and balanced on logs. She hopped across three rocks in the trickling creek to get to the other side and even swung on a low hanging vine. It was here in the shade of embracing trees that Valka could finally breathe. No one stared at her except for the occasional squirrel or crow. The only voice she heard was her own as she hummed or whistled. She could simply disappear for an hour, a wanderer in her own little haven.

Down the hill she trotted, dodging the divots in the dirt where tree roots had broken through. Squinting through the sunshine, she could see her secret hideaway: a collection of fallen tree branches she had arranged into a miniature hut. Of course now she had to duck down and crawl on her hands and knees in order to fit, but it was cool and shady, a refuge from the summer heat.

She had created one rule in her hideaway: don't think. The hive mind of the village was not allowed to penetrate these walls. So, in accordance with her rule, she didn't think, she simply watched.

If she moved her head just right, she could see the ocean from her hut, glistening in the sunlight. The fishermen were on the other side of the island today, so blue sky met blue water unimpeded. She sighed contently, kicked off her boots, nestled into her hut and began fiddling with the end of her long braid.

The buzzing of the bees and the sweet scent of summer lulled her into slumber.

* * *

A loud, metallic sound woke her.

Jumping up, Valka noticed the pink hue to the sky, indicating that the sun was setting. She cursed, remembering the farewell feast that was to be taking place shortly, and scrambled to collect herself.

But a voice in the distance made her freeze.

"You sure?" A man questioned, his voice raspy and thin.

"Couldn't be surer. They'll be at the Mead Hall. Frey's sending a group of them off tomorrow."

"They already pulled the fishing boats in," a third voice, distinctly female, answered.

"Excellent." The first voice said, clearly satisfied. "Vermin, get your men and take them to the east side of the island. Bragga, you take the west. I'll take mine south. Launch your first volley when you see my flaming arrow."

"Yes Chief!" Vermin and Bragga answered simultaneously. Footsteps marched nearby before growing silent, disappearing off into the distance.

Valka sat there, her heart pounding. Off on the distant sea, she spotted at least a dozen war ships heading to shore. She pinched her eyes shut, listening and waiting, until her itching limbs could not take it any longer. She ran, faster than she ever dreamed, fear propelling her legs forward.

It wasn't until the village was in sight that she realized she was barefoot.

* * *

The shops and houses were shut up and dark for the night. A series of lanterns lit a path up to Mead Hall, where Valka could hear music and voices clamoring. Despite the sharp burning pain in her gut, she ascended the stone steps, skipping several, before throwing herself through the doors.

"Help!" She cried, her voice a croak. The music stopped, and hundreds of eyes turned towards the skinny, trembling girl in the doorway. Glancing up, she saw a long table at the base of the Chief's pedestal, where Spitelout, Stoick, and the other boys sat. Spitelout's eyes widened at the sight of his sister, and he pushed himself forward, as if he was waiting for her to collapse.

Frey the Grey stood up straight, his intense eyes staring down at her.

"Valka Jorgenson, what is the meaning of-"

"The forest," she gasped, heaving. "I heard them, in the forest."

"Heard who exactly?" Stoick answered for his father. "Dragons?"

Valka shook her head. She tried to speak, but could only cough. A pair of arms wrapped around her, the familiar arms of her mother. Ursula was whispering to her daughter, but Valka could not bear to listen right now.

"I heard," she continued, panting. "People. Strangers."

"Spit it out girl!" The familiar bawdy voice of Gobber sounded. Determined, Valka tore herself away from her mother, and fell on her knees in front of the Chief and the honored young men.

"There are people in the forest." She pointed wildly. "They're going to attack us. Tonight!"

"People?" Stoick asked, his red eyebrows raising.

"What kind of people?" Frey asked gravely. "Who did you see?"

Valka shook her head. "Didn't see. Heard them…Vermin and Bragga and their chief."

Stoick and Frey turned towards each other, their eyes wide. In an instant the Mead Hall erupted into mass chaos. Tables were flipped, fires were extinguished, and weapons were sought after. Valka exhaled, knowing that she had relayed her message, but someone tugged at her arm.

Towering above her was the chief's son. He looked livid.

"You, come with me."

Valka trembled, hesitating, her body like lead. Stoick groaned, aggravated, but lifted her up in a cradling carry. She could hear her mother call her name, but Stoick took her to one of the storage rooms and sat her down on a barrel. To her surprise he thrust a mug into her chest.

"Information. All of it." His eyes narrowed. "Now."

The water soothed her parched tongue. She gasped in relief before speaking.

"I was in the forest-"

"Where in the forest?"

"About two miles north from here. I have a hiding place," she blushed, feeling childish for telling the chief's son that intimate detail. "I fell asleep a few hours ago, and when I woke up I heard voices."

"And you said that there were three people?"

She nodded. "Vermin, Bragga, and their chief…who are they?"

Stoick softened, straightening up from his intense scrutiny.

"The last people you want to run into: Blood Moons."

"Blood Moons?!"

"Aye. And their chief is Mercer the Breath Stealer. I met them once before. Wasn't pleasant."

"Back when you went away for three years?"

His eyes brightened, "You remember that?"

She nodded once more.

"They said that they knew we would be in the Mead Hall tonight. They knew about the voyage leaving tomorrow…how would they know that?"

Stoick knelt on the floor before her. For the first time, she was taller than him.

"Come on Val, you're a smart one. How do you think?"

She grimaced.

"That's right: there's a spy in our village somewhere."

"But who-"

"We'll point fingers later. Now, do you remember anything else they said?"

"Vermin is coming from the east, Bragga from the west, and the chief is leading his group south. He said…Mercer said, that he'll set off a flaming arrow and that will be the signal to attack."

"Good girl. Do you remember how long ago this was?"

"About fifteen minutes ago."

"Excellent, you've helped-" he paused, his eyes narrowing again. "Only fifteen minutes ago?"

Valka nodded, feeling frightened once more. "Yes sir?"

To her surprise, Stoick the Vast began to laugh, a strange sound in the midst of widespread panic.

"You mean to say that you ran two miles in fifteen minutes?"

"I…I guess?"

His smile broadened, and his laughter boomed in the small storage space.

"We'll make a warrior out of you yet, but not now." He hoisted her off the barrel, an unnecessary act in Valka's mind, and led her back into the Mead Hall. "Right now I want you to hide with the other children and those who aren't fighting. Stay out of sight and stay out of the way."

"But my family-"

"They'll be fine lass. Just do what I told you. Go on!"

Just like that, Stoick disappeared from the hall, surrounded by his fellow warriors.

* * *

Seconds turned to minutes. Minutes turned to hours. The hours dragged on and on until it seemed that the battle raging outside would never last. Valka sat huddled in the dark tight space under the trapdoor of a barn. Sheep cried anxiously above them, their worried steps sending clumps of dirt, hay, and Gods knew what else through the floorboards. Children surrounded her, whimpering and holding on to one another. In the corner, a young mother was crying as she nursed her infant child. Another woman, late in her pregnancy, sat curled in a ball around her behemoth belly. The only one that offered even the slightest bit of comfort was Pappy Thornston, who sat next to Valka.

"You'll be a hero you know," he whispered.

"Really?" Valka asked, fighting the rising bit of pride in her chest.

"You warned them just in time. We were able to prepare because of you. That's pretty heroic."

Valka smiled, thankful that her blush went unseen in the dark.

When the sheep went still, Valka knew that the battle must be over. She continued to wait in strained silence to see who would find them, if anyone would.

 _Please let Mum and Daddy and Spitelout be okay…_ she prayed to every God she could think of. _Please don't let anyone be hurt or killed. Please Odin, please Tyr, please._

Footsteps sounded overhead, sending another round of dust and a plague of silence. A dozen eyes squinted as the trap door opened, revealing the stern, stoic face of Spitelout.

"SPITE!" Valka screeched, launching herself upwards and into her brother's arms. His bright blue tunic was completely ruined, covered in blood, but he appeared unscathed.

Despite everyone watching, and his dislike of affection, Valka kissed his bruised cheek.

"What happened? Where are Daddy and Mum? Is everyone alright?"

Spitelout, curiously enough, was at a loss of words.

"Spite?" Valka called nervously. His eyes were glassy. Slowly, very slowly, he stood up, but he did not let go of his little sister. He peered down into the hiding place with hollow eyes, before speaking with a wisp of a voice:

"The chief is dead."


	3. Walking to her Doom

Three boats set sail from the shores of the beach, painted and decorated with the battle-worn weapons of the fallen. Despite her attempts to suppress it, Valka yawned into her sleeve. It was nearing dawn. The village had been awake all night fighting off another dragon raid. Valka had been ordered back into the barn beneath the trap door with children who pouted and insisted she let them out.

"You're not my ma!"

"Where's daddy? I wanna fight with daddy!"

Babysitting. So that's what the village thought she was good for.

Standing on the sand, Valka was yet again amazed at how quickly the village was able to organize a funeral. She wondered if somewhere, in some secluded space there was a surplus of small boats built just for the purpose of setting ablaze. She found it strange that they honored the fallen with fiery arrows, when fire had been the cause of their death.

Mackrel Skoptison: scalded by the white hot flame of a Nadder.

Brynhild Bleck: crushed by a fiery beam broken by a Gronkle

Pappy Thorston: Zippleback explosion

The last death felt like a loaf of lead in Valka's stomach. Pappy Thorston had not made it to the barn in time. He hadn't even been near the dragon, but the sheer force of the explosion had been concussive, and sent the man flying through the air. Even in death, Pappy Thorston had a smile on his face, as if he was ready to begin another one of his tales or to take out a pocket full of sweets.

"My grandpa was a great man," Buffnut Thorston stood before the village, giving his eulogy. "When my dad died and it was just me and my mum, he took us in, no questions asked. In his younger days he was a warrior, then he became a father and a grandfather…but throughout his life he was a friend."

Valka felt a vice tightening around her hand: her mother's fingers tightened their grip.

The arrows were launched, and an ethereal glow sparkled on the horizon, as the fallen began their ascension into Valhalla. Immediately, the crowd began to disperse, save for the members of the fallen's families, and Stoick the Vast.

Valka didn't know it was possible for a man in his twenties to continue growing, but somehow the chief had accomplished just that. Taking up his father's place as chief three years ago seemed to add more width to his shoulders, more inches to his back. He stood there, surrounded by grieving families, even offered a comforting shoulder to Brynhild's now childless mother.

"Valka?" Ursula's hand tugged on her daughters. "Come on dear. You need to get some sleep."

 _You_. Not we. Just her. Just the one who was walking to her doom in a few hours.

* * *

"Don't even start this morning," Smitelout grumbled as Valka stomped down the stairs for breakfast. Her father sat at the family table, his head in his palm, his elbow on the table as he tried to stay awake. Ursula looked up from her place in the kitchen, flashing an encouraging smile that only made Valka roll her eyes. Spitelout was gnawing at his food, not even swallowing before speaking.

"Gronkles are first."

"You told me."

"Six shots."

"I know Spite, I read the book."

Valka slumped into her seat right as her mother placed a pile of sausage in front of her.

"Eat up dear."

She only groaned.

"Do I have to?"

"Eat? Or go to training?"

"Both."

Smitelout groaned.

"Valka Jorgenson…"

"But daddy!" Valka began, repeating the passionate plea she gave her father almost daily since he announced her enrollment in the training program. "I don't want to go to training! I don't want to fight! Couldn't I do something else? Lundy could teach me how to be a midwife-"

"There won't be any more babies born if we keep losing warriors," her mother said sadly.

"Besides," Spitelout mumbled, a mouth full of food. "Lundy's still an apprentice. She can't teach you anything…and _she_ went to dragon training too."

"How about a seamstress then? Or a cook!"

The two male members of the Jorgenson family burst into laughter. Valka fumed, sinking into her seat, crossing her arms at her chest.

"Vally," her mother sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Just try dragon training for a month. If you don't like it, then we can find something else for you."

"If I don't die first!"

"You're a Jorgenson," her father began proudly. "You'll be the one to kill the dragon at the end. But don't go negotiating until the end of the month, understood?"

Valka stewed for a minute, before shoving a piece of sausage into her mouth.

"Fine."

* * *

After breakfast, Valka set out towards the ring. It was a quiet, misty morning: the promise of rain meant that there would not be a raid tonight, which meant no more lives lost. Begrudgingly, she had dressed in her faded brown tunic that hung down to her knees, tying it with a belt at her nonexistent waist. There was a hole in her green leggings where she had fallen trying to lift a hammer. Her hair hung in a single long plait down her back.

She was not the first one at the ring.

"Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me."

Amongst the students, Valka was the only girl. She was the tallest. She was also the oldest.

Finn Hofferson, the youngest of the Hofferson boys at eleven, punched invisible foes in the air while Link Underfoot, a shortsighted boy of nine with a drippy nose, sat beside him.

They both snickered as Valka came into the ring.

"Oh yeah," Finn began, "I am _so_ going to win."

 _Knock yourself out kid,_ Valka thought, gazing around the massive structure. Valka avoided going near the ring whenever she could. She still had only attended one final exam, her brother's. Everyone would talk about how the ring was "sacred ground," and "a place where warriors were made," but Valka didn't believe that. How could she, when she could hear the whimpers and cries of dragons just beyond the sturdy wooden doors.

Curious, Valka walked over in that direction. Gronkles were first, then Nadders, then Zipplebacks, then Terrors, repeating over and over until the decision was made for the final exam. The Monstrous Nightmare would not be released until the final exam of course, but Valka could hear it snoring, as if it knew it had a long time to wait.

 _Or it knows it'll win this exam,_ she sighed.

"I wouldn't stand that close to the gates if I were you," a deep voice called from the far side of the ring. Valka froze: the voice was _definitely_ not Gobber's.

"Oh no…"

There, standing in the entryway, was Stoick.

"Morning," he gave a slight wave to the students. Immediately, Finn Hofferson stopped swatting at invisible enemies, and Link stood up as straight as he could. There was stars in their eyes as they gazed upon their chief…though he certainly did not look like a chief. His fur mantle was gone, as was his armor. His hair was down today, hitting his shoulders in frizzy waves. He wore a simple tunic and pants, making him appear like just another citizen of Berk.

 _Figures,_ she thought, _I'm going to make an idiot out of myself in front of the chief. Exile for sure._

"Gobber is resting at home: the mist is giving his leg fits."

"Did a Boneknapper really get it?" Link wheezed excitedly.

Stoick raised a thick red brow.

"That's just a tale lad, a fever dream Gobber had."

"But I heard that he-"

"Boneknappers aren't real. I'm here to teach you how to kill _real_ dragons, that is if you ever shut up so we can get this lesson started."

His eyes darted over to Valka, who realized she was not standing in line with the boys.

"Oh right, sorry sir." She dashed over, cheeks blazing.

Stoick crossed his thick arms at his waist.

"I've never taught dragon training before, though I have seen enough of Gobber teaching it to tell you that I disagree with his methods…at least with you lot. Gobber starts with Gronkles which, as you should know, are slow but tough. You all," he said pointedly, "are not ready for Gronkles."

"WHAT?" Finn Hofferson shouted. "You've gotta be-"

"STOP!" Stoick boomed. Finn was silenced. "You're not ready until I say you're ready. Some of you have never even wielded a weapon before," Valka felt his eyes land on her. "And you're not coming face to face with dragons until I know you won't at least kill yourselves. So consider this an entrance exam."

Valka felt her shoulders relax slightly. No dragons. Maybe she would never even have to face one.

"So, come over and choose your weapon."

The boys scurried over before Valka could even step. Finn and Link were debating over swords and axes and hammers, but Valka had been stopped by Stoick.

"Hey, listen," he began, his voice softer. "I know that they're a bit younger than you, so things might seem a little slow."

"I'm fine with slow," Valka grinned, "be as slow as you want."

"But if you want extra practice, I can find a sparring partner for you."

"Oh, thank you sir…but I think I'll be okay."

Stoick smile slightly, before glancing away angrily. "HEY! I SAID PICK A WEAPON, NOT ATTACK YOUR CLASSMATE!"

As the chief dealt with mischievous boys, Valka could practically feel herself trembling with joy.

 _No dragons for a while,_ she sighed. _Just make it a month. One month._

This would be easy.

* * *

"OWWWW!"

"Sorry love, try to hold still."

Ursula adjusted the hot rags on Valka's shoulders, but the girl only screamed.

"IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS MAMA!"

"Okay, okay, no heat then."

Valka whimpered, curling up into a ball on her bed despite the screaming pain in his shoulders. Her choice of a knife had been dismissed by the chief, and he insisted that she wield a hammer. The hammer had decided to wield her instead.

"Oh Gods I can't do this."

"It's only the first day dear. Your body has to adjust."

"Adjust to what, torture?"

"Shh, just try to rest."

"I can't do it, I can't I can't."

"Would you rather the dragons come out earlier?"

"No but I can run from them!"

Ursula sighed, stroking her daughter's loose hair.

"Why do I have to do this?"

"Vally…honey…"

"Is it because I can't cook? This has to be my life now?"

Ursula did not respond. This piqued Valka's interest. "Mum?"

"Valka…you know your father and I cannot be around forever, as much as we may want to. Your brother loves you, but he is going to have his own household one day, with his own wife and babies. He can't take care of his sister…"

"Mum…"

"Remember all those years ago, I told you a man on this island could have a warrior or a housewife in marriage?"

"SO THAT'S WHY!?" Valka shot up, ignoring the searing pain throbbing through her body. "You and Daddy don't think I'll make a good housewife, so I have to go and try to be a warrior now. Is that it?"

"No, we want you to be able to protect yourself, to take care of yourself. If you can't-"

"You don't think a man will want me—"

"Now I never said-"

"WELL YOU'RE RIGHT!" Valka sobbed. "And I don't care! I don't care if I get married! I don't care if I can't fight or cook! I just want everyone to leave me alone and let me be _me_!"

As she flew out onto the darkened, rainy path, Valka could hear her mother calling after her.

She didn't look back.


	4. Valka's Fury

Somehow, Valka's feet led her to the Kill Ring.

The gate was locked, barring her from entering as she slammed into the wood and metal. Tears flooded her eyes as her knees buckled, but she did not collapse. Instead, she made her way up to the viewing area, and wove her body through the chains. The drop was high, but Valka didn't care about the fall. She climbed down bit by bit, fingers scraping against stone until her bare feet touched the ground.

Anger fueled her, heated her from the inside out. With thundering footsteps, she stomped over to the weapons stand and knocked it over, scattering the weapons against the floor. The hammer that had been her downfall today fell with a heavy metal clunk, and in her fury she launched it several feet away. Swords were tossed, knives in their sheaths were kicked. The only weapon Valka did not send flying was a staff. This, she clutched in her hands until her knuckles turned white. Then, she utilized it.

WHACK, against the weapons stand.

WHACK, against the wall of the ring.

WHACK, against the evil hammer.

WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, WHACK, against the doors of the dragon pens. The Monstrous Nightmare roared on the other side. The Terrible Terror chattered. The Deadly Nadder squawked. Valka ignored them and continued on her rampage.

It wasn't _fair_.

Valka knew that she would never fit the roles expected of her, and she was fine with that, but why couldn't everyone else see that? She wasn't a warrior like her brother or father, and she wasn't a housewife like her mother. She was something in the middle, or maybe something entirely new. She was an oddball, a bad gear in the otherwise fine-tuned machine that was Berk. Who cared? Valka didn't, but it seemed like the whole island did. All she ever heard in her life were whispers.

And her mother…

Valka groaned, slamming the staff against the ground in grief.

Her mother, her one champion in life, was against her.

"Oh Gods…" she gasped, recalling the months of practice in the kitchen, the endless sewing lessons. Ursula had tried but failed to turn her wayward daughter into an acceptable housewife. Valka had failed. What other choice did her mother have? One way or the other. Black or white. Warrior or housewife.

Instead, she was just Valka, a grey shapeless blob.

Her knees gave way and she fell to the ground in an exhausted heap. Moments that she thought meant nothing at the time suddenly seemed clear. Whispered conversations between her parents that would stop when Valka entered the room. Lundy and Odina giggling whenever they saw her, before asking how things were going. The different men and women who sat down with her parents in Mead Hall while Valka was asked to help clean up. The sad look on her parent's faces whenever she returned to them.

They were starting their search for a husband for her.

And they were failing.

Warrior or housewife.

No one wanted just Valka.

Then, a terrible, terrible though crept into her mind: did her parents even want just Valka?

Valka curled up on the ground, clutching the staff as if it was the last glimmer of hope in her life. If she failed training, if her parent's couldn't find her a man who wanted her…Gods only knew what would happen to her. Widows were respected, spinsters were not... Men could stay single for as long as they wanted: Gobber, Stoick, Spitelout, Aron Hofferson, Buffnut Thorston…women couldn't. It was unnatural. Even Gothi had been married decades ago, though the thought of the old woman being a blushing bride made Valka feel nauseous. If _Gothi_ found a husband and Valka couldn't…

 _That's it,_ she thought angrily, gripping the staff even more. The rain was falling steadily now, dripping onto her, creating puddles on the ground.

"I have to pass training. I have to, for _them_."

 _Let them know that their daughter isn't a complete embarrassment,_ she continued, not wishing to speak the words out loud. She would not be her parent's misfortune any longer. If they couldn't have a housewife for a daughter, then let them have the warrior.

"Please Odin," she begged, glassy eyes searching the cloudy sky. "Let me do it for them."

The all-father responded by sending a flood of icy rain right onto Berk.

"She's ice cold."

"I know-"

"What if she doesn't wake up?"

"She will. Look, she's still breathing."

"Oh Smite-"

Valka whimpered in her sleep, her eyes becoming lighter and lighter until she saw the blurry forms of her parents crouched at her bedside. She had never seen her father cry before, but the great man had tears in his eyes. Her mother's face was buried in the layers of blankets that covered Valka.

"Mum? Daddy?" She whispered.

Smitelout's smile was so wide it sent the tears out of his eyes. "Oh thank GODS!"

Ursula's arms crushed Valka. She had an incredible, throbbing pain in her lungs.

"My baby girl, oh my baby-"

"Mum...Mum…can't breathe Mum."

"I know, I know, just hang in there. Gothi said that should go away-"

"No Mum, crushing me!"

"Oh!" Ursula sprang back. "Sorry dear, you just, you worried us so much."

Valka nodded sleepily, finding it difficult to breathe on her own. She glanced up at her parents, searching their faces for answers.

"What happened?"

"You ran off right as the storm hit," her father said grimly. "We couldn't see anything so we couldn't go out looking for you. When the rain cleared we had the whole village searching for you, but you weren't in any of your usual spots."

"That's when someone said you were in the ring," Ursula added. "The chief found you."

"The _chief_?" Valka could have died of embarrassment, right there.

"Aye. He brought you in. You were soaked to the bone and so pale. Gothi came. Said you had too much water in you, that you'll end up sick unless we keep you warm and dry. You've been asleep all day."

Valka grabbed her mother's hand, bringing it up to her mouth to kiss it.

"I'm sorry Mama. I'm so sorry."

"Shh Vally, don't go saying things you don't mean."

"But I do mean it. I do! I'm sorry. I understand why you wanted me in training. I'm sorry I'm so…so…so _me_!"

She burst into tears, hardly noticing her parents gazing at each other with inquisitive glances. Ursula shrugged her shoulders, before gesturing to the door. Smitelout nodded and left without a word.

"Vally, darling…what are you talking about?"

"I know you want me in training so that way you can find me a husband," she sniffed in between sobs. "I know I failed at everything else-"

"Valka Jorgenson, I won't have you speak like that about yourself."

"But I'm a failure and an embarrassment-"

"Oh darling girl, I don't care if you can cook or sew or kill dragons. None of that's important to me."

"But I'll never get married-"

"You don't know that."

" _You_ do!" Her voice came out in a pinched croak. "Look at me mum! I'm skinny and gangly and useless. I'm-I'm a talking fishbone!"

"An adorable fishbone!"

" _Mum_!" The tears felt white hot against her chilled skin. She took several gulping breaths before continuing. "I know that you and daddy have been searching for me…for a husband, I mean."

Ursula's lips pursed. "That's…true, yes."

"And no one wants me."

"No, Aron Hofferson's father said he'd consider it…if you pass training."

"So that's a no then."

"But maybe Finn…"

"UGH!"

Her mother sighed. "What can I do Valka? Tell me how I can make this better?"

"You're not the one who has to change mum, I am-"

Ursula's hand clamped around her daughter's chin, jutting it up towards her eyes. Valka gulped, noticing the fire blazing in her mother's gentle gray eyes.

"I wouldn't trade you for all the Odinas in Midgard. You are my daughter, and I love you, with or without training, with or without a husband."

Another one of her bone crushing hugs blew the wind out of Valka's bruised lungs, but she was too moved to complain. Mum was all she needed right now, mum was the air she breathed.

"Ursula!" The bizarrely clear voice of Smitelout called from down below.

"Oh dear Odin…" Ursula rolled her eyes. "What is it?"

Booming footsteps thundered up the steps. Valka anticipated her father to saunter into her room, but a familiar mop of red hair poked around the corner first.

The chief was in her bedroom.

The _chief_ was in her bedroom!

"Oh! Chief!" Ursula stood up frantically. Valka did not ignore the fact that her mother's frame shielded her from the chief's view, giving her time to pull up her blanket over her thin nightclothes.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Stoick began, his voice soft and almost soothing. "I just wanted to see how your daughter was faring, considering how ill she was last night."

"Awake, thank the gods. A bit shaken, but nothing a good bit of rest won't help."

"I'm glad for it. We'll need her back in the ring soon enough."

Valka grimaced.

"May I have a word with your daughter? It'll only take a moment."

"Oh, um," Ursula shifted uncomfortably, giving a backwards glance to Valka. "Of course chief."

Valka watched her mother and father head into the hall, leaving Valka alone with the chief.

Stoick's eyes were tender, his smile pleasant as they rounded the corner.

Before narrowing into thin, murderous slits.

"What—in—Hel's—name—were—you—thinking—girl!?"

The softness of his voice vanished into a growl.

"I-"

"You run off in the middle of Thor's fury, destroy _my_ ring, and damaged all of our weapons!?"

"I-"

"I thought I would have this recklessness from the Hofferson kid, but from _you_?"

"But I-"

"Did you even consider your mother during all of this? Or are you just that gods-damned selfish!"

"HEY!" Valka shouted, pushing herself up onto her hands, nearly meeting the chief's stunned face. "Don't you _ever_ call me selfish; I don't care if you're the chief or Odin come to Midgard. If I was selfish I wouldn't even be in that damned ring to start with. I hate the thing! I hate what you people do in it! It's disgusting and cruel!" She glowered, realizing that tears were in her eyes, but she didn't care. "I'm doing it for them, not for me."

Stoick straightened, his eyes wide beneath his bushy brows. There was a sneer on his lips, but it almost twitched upwards into a smile.

"Alright, not selfish then. We'll just say stupid."

Despite her rage, Valka smiled.

"Fine. Stupid."

"You made a mess of the ring. Didn't know you could throw around a hammer like that; you made some dents-"

"A hammer?" Valka asked, confused. "Oh…no, that was the staff."

His eyes widened. "A _wooden_ staff?"

Somehow the absurdity of it all had escaped Valka's mind. "Yep."

"Huh…" the chief rubbed his scruff deep in thought. "Well, I came here to see how you were doing…and to assign you your punishment…banishment."

" _WHAT-_?!"

The chief burst into laughter, his frame shook the floor beneath her bed.

"I'm kidding lass, only a joke…oh but you should have seen your…" he erupted into another round of belly laughs. Valka fumed.

"No, no your real punishment is to clean up the ring, once you're better of course."

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"Huh."

"Oh, well, that and extra training."

" _Extra_?"

"Yes…with me."


	5. Private Lessons

He was late.

Of course he was late. She had only been up since before dawn, fuming over the idea of having to have extra training, panicking over the idea of that training being with the chief.

She grimaced, straightening her back. Earlier yesterday, Gothi had given the good news that Valka was off bed rest. Not even an hour later, Valka's good mood was soured by a note on the front door:

"Arena. After supper. Clean up. Training tomorrow. Nine in the clearing."

No signature, but the brusque tone of the note made its author obvious.

And so, Valka had spent her evening in the shadowy pit of the ring, hoisting up weapons back onto their pegs, tossing dull blades onto a cart to take to Gobber's, and—to her great disgust—cleaning up after a Gronckle that had accidentally been let out of its pen. The stench stuck to her clothes as she had dragged her feet back to her house…only for sleep to evade her.

Now, Valka stood with her back against a tree trunk, sore and irritable, alone in the clearing.

"Figures," she kicked at a pebble. Her stomach growled, but Valka had assumed that whatever breakfast she ate would be lost in her prescribed training. The thought of those massive fists landing against her, one of his boots slamming into her…Valka shuddered. Maybe an inevitable death under the guise of training was his plan all along. One less mouth to feed, one less villager to keep safe, one less oddball on the island…

"Morning," a voice called from behind her tree. Valka jumped, shrieking, thumping her head on a low hanging branch. Grumbling, rubbing her scalp, she saw the chief standing there with a bundle high up on his shoulders, an amused smirk on his lips.

"Ah, guess I need to change my lesson for today: always be aware of your surroundings."

"You just scared me, that's all." Valka straightened, trying to ignore the pain in her head.

"I could have been a dragon, or a Berserker. You need to get out of your head."

"Out of my head, got it. Is the lesson over now?"

Stoick chuckled softly, whipping the pack from off his shoulders. "Not quite."

Pulling apart the leather and fur, Valka saw an array of weapons neatly tied up. How a person could carry an arsenal on their back like that, Valka hadn't a clue. He must have raided Gobber's shop in preparation for this so-called lesson.

"Don't worry, they're all dull." He muttered, running a calloused finger over the blade of an axe. "It wouldn't look good if the Chief of Berk kills one of his own in a training exercise."

Valka whimpered in her throat.

"Now," Stoick stood, dusting off his pants. "Choose your weapon."

Valka looked up at him, the corners of her lips pulled taut. She half expected him to groan in exasperation, reach down, and thrust an axe or hammer into her hands. Instead, he crossed his arms, met her gaze, and waited.

With a huff, Valka picked up a sword. The pommel was larger than her hands and the blade felt flimsy. The weight was no issue, but controlling the thing…

"Here, fix your stance," Stoick began, the paws of his hands landing on her shoulders. Valka tensed up, something that did not go unnoticed by the chief. "Relax girl. I'm not going to break you…though you might dislocate your shoulders if you stay this tense."

"Sorry chief," Valka shrugged her shoulders until they loosened slightly. His hands continued to press down, though the sensation was not as painful as she expected it to be.

"There you go. The most important thing to work on with a sword is your stance. You'll end up hurting yourself more than your enemy with a bad stance." He moved back around front, his eyes never leaving her shoulders. "How does that feel?"

 _Stupid,_ Valka thought.

"Great," Valka said.

Stoick nodded, stepping back, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Valka waited, the corners of her lips began to sag as she felt the pinpricks of pain trickle across her arms. Her brow furrowed, her nose scrunched; she looked anywhere except the wavering sword in front of her. The chief raised a crimson eyebrow, his clear eyes steady as stone. Valka's shoulders turned to fire, her forearms electricity. With a gasp, she lowered the sword, the tip colliding against the earth. Beads of sweat dotted her hairline, and despite every attempt to control her breathing, Valka could not stop panting.

"What-was-the-point-of-that?" she asked.

Stoick took the sword from her hands, "To get some muscles on those spindly arms of yours."

"You say that like you're expecting them to just magically appear."

"I'm not," he placed the sword back into the bundle. "But they never will unless you practice and train hard."

"Isn't that the point of us being out here?"

"It is," he smirked, "among other reasons."

His eyes landed on her, absorbing her form from top to bottom.

Valka froze. Inside her chest her heart raced in fear. She had heard stories of men taking advantage of women, especially young virginal girls. This was the chief. He had all the power in Midgard, only the gods themselves could stop him.

 _Oh gods, please no…_ she winced.

"Why did you decide to vandalize my ring?"

"Huh?"

Valka looked down. The chief was sitting cross-legged on the earth, looking as eager as a young boy with wide eyes. It was almost comical; how were legs that massive able to cross that tightly?

The question dawned on her, finally reaching the depths of her mind.

"Oh! Oh, I was…I was upset."

"With what?"

"That's rather personal, don't you think?"

"Well, you could tell me…or you could tell the council members. I mean, you _did_ commit a crime…and your testimony would need to be heard one way or another…" he waved his arms around nonchalantly, his tone nonthreatening but his meaning very clear.

"I had a fight with my mother, alright?"

"A fight?"

"An argument really, or a disagreement…whatever it was. That's why I ran off."

"To the ring?"

Valka huffed, throwing herself onto the ground until she sat cross-legged.

"I didn't want to be in training," she muttered, pushing her finger through the dirt, not daring to meet his gaze. "Never wanted to be. I'm not my dad, I'm not Spitelout…"

"Sometimes you don't know what you're capable of until you get in there-"

"No, no that's not it," she sighed. "My parents didn't have a lot of choice. They're…they're running out of options for me. _I'm_ running out of options."

"Running out of…oh," the chief's voice raised in pitch as he came to the realization. Valka tilted her head down, praying that the berry colored blush on her face went unnoticed. Such personal thoughts, shared with the chief of all people!

 _Better than the council,_ she reminded herself.

"So you see, I didn't know that's why they put me in training…not until after that first day. The reality of it all…"

"I know how you feel."

"Huh?" Valka straightened. "You do?"

"Letting emotions get the best of you…I felt that way when my mother died, and when my father died. You don't think…or rather, you think too much. It goes back and forth in between them it seems, and after it's all over you can never remember it happening. You almost go berserk, but you're still a part of reality, and the person you want to hurt most is yourself."

"That's…that's a good explanation of it."

Stoick smiled sadly. "I'll never forget that night, when the Blood Moons attacked."

"The night your father died?"

"Aye, that's right...but that's also the night I learned I shouldn't underestimate people." He eyed her steadily. "Our village stands today because of you Valka. Our villagers are still alive. If you hadn't warned us…" he shuddered. "I know what the villagers say about you; nothing happens on this island without me knowing about it, one way or another…but that night I decided not to listen to the gossip. Every villager has a part to play, every villager can be useful…we just need to find out what part you can play."

"And that's why I'm out here?"

"Well like I said, that and to hear the reason why you made a mess of my ring…with a _staff!_ " He unleashed a contagious chuckle. "You can't kill a dragon with a staff, but it's a start, and if that's where we need to start to see if you have warrior blood then so be it."

"Okay," Valka nodded, though she frowned. "And what if I'm not a warrior? Then what?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it." He stood up, towering over her. "I'm determined to make this work Valka Jorgenson, and I have stubbornness issues."

"Don't we all?"

He held out a hand to help her up, but a panicked voice rang through the trees.

"CHIEF!" It was unmistakably Gobber. "STOICK!"

"Gobber? Over here man!"

The hobbling blond Viking burst through the forest and into the clearing. His pale eyes were wide, sweat dripped down his face from the effort of running. He did not seem to notice Valka standing there.

"You need to come back to the village, _now_."

"What's wrong?"

"There's been an accident, in the ring."

Stoick straightened. "Tell me."


	6. Used to It

Valka woke up screaming.

"Vally?" her mother's voice called from behind the door. It began to open a crack but Valka quickly rambled off her repeated mantra.

"I'm fine mum, just a bad dream. I'm fine."

Ursula muttered her disbelief, but shrunk away from the doorway.

Valka was anything but fine.

A year had passed since that day in the woods with the chief. She was sixteen now, a woman, though her body still did not show it. That day was permanently etched on the canvas of her mind, but for all the wrong reasons. Her emotions from that day gripped at her chest in a rapidly repeating pattern: anxiety, distress, relief, horror. The sights, sounds and, gods, even the smells from that day lingered. No amount of talking, no amount of crying would ever mitigate her memories of that day.

 _"Tell me."_

 _"You just have to come_ now! _"_

 _Stoick had nodded over to Valka, silently apologizing for his hasty departure. Valka had watched as the two grown men dashed through the forest, Gobber beginning to lag behind the sprinting chief. She had waited, seconds, hardly a minute, before setting off towards home. The way was uphill, but Valka ran diagonally to keep her pace steady. She could not spot Stoick or Gobber, but the sight of Gothi's outpost came into view over the crest of the hill. The closer she came to Berk, the more commotion she could hear: the yells, the cries, the screams._

 _She had skidded down the hill until her feet met wood. Villagers were running towards the ring, weapons drawn. Had a dragon gotten loose? No, couldn't be. They didn't need an entire village for that. Maybe it was an attack? No, why would a dragon choose to go to the ring and only the ring? Enemy Vikings maybe, but not dragons. And besides, the looks she saw on the villagers' faces was one of fright, not one of battle readiness._

 _Perplexed, Valka made her way towards the ring. For once her narrow body had come in handy, as she squeezed through the thick forms of her fellow villagers. The chained dome of the ring inched closer, and a stench unlike anything Valka had smelled before wafted in the air. She nearly gagged; one man near her lost his breakfast on the stone walkway._

 _Zippleback gas leak?_

 _Sick Gronckle?_

 _"Valka!" The voice of her brother came from just outside her peripheral vision._

 _"Spite?" She answered, searching for him. His face was white, his eyes wider than she had ever seen. Was her brother…afraid?_

 _"You need to get home,_ now _. You don't need to see this."_

 _"See what? What's going on?"_

 _A scream rang high and shrill across the ring. Everyone stopped to look at the source: a short, plump woman with her dark hair half done. Valka thought she recognized the woman, but it wasn't until she fought her way out of Spitelout's grip, up to the chains of the ring that she knew exactly what had happened._

 _A Monstrous Nightmare laid limp in the middle of the ring, dozens of arrows piercing its flesh like new rows of spikes. Its jaws were half open, it's jagged teeth bloodied. Something was sticking out of its mouth…_

 _"Valka no!"_

 _"Get her out of here!"_

 _"What-"_

 _That's when she saw it, on the cold stone beneath the dragon's head: the mangled body of Link Underfoot._

An accident.

That's what his death had been ruled as, an accident.

That morning, young Finn Hofferson had dashed over to Link's house. The two boys were a few years apart, but miles apart in personality. Brash and bold versus humble and reserved. Finn had wanted to practice, he had wanted a buddy. Link had politely declined, but name calling on Finn's part had encouraged him out the door. They had traipsed up to the ring, freshly cleaned from Valka's work the night before. It had been several days since they had been in the ring, too long in Finn's opinion. He had set up a sparring dummy and practiced his punches and kicks while Link watched from a safe distance.

That's when Finn had suggested peeking in to the cages.

"I should have listened to him!" The boy had sobbed when questioned. His clothes had been singed, covered in blood that no one could determine was his or Link's. "He said it was stupid. I should have just listened!"

But Finn had opened the door anyway, just a crack, just to see.

All the dragon could see was Link sitting on the other side of the ring.

No one but Valka had seemed to see the rib cages sticking out beneath the Nightmare's skin.

The screaming woman's hair had turned white seemingly overnight. Link was all she had; her husband had been lost at sea when Link was just a babe. Link had been her purpose and her salvation, and now she had no one. Stoick had raised funds for her, a paltry amount considering her loss, but it was enough to keep her house running and food at the ready.

Of course it had all been for naught. A month after they had sent Link's remains off to Valhala, they had found his mother hanging from the rafters of her house.

Finn had been declared innocent; boys will be boys was the justification. Finn hadn't meant any harm, and the incident had left him scarred both physically and mentally. He had fought the Nightmare after all, even when Link's screams had stopped. Brave, bold, and fearless.

Valka was the one who was guilty.

Of course, no one blamed her. She had been a mile away and completely uninvolved…but she knew better. She was the reason no one had been able to go into the ring for days. Her temper tantrum had inadvertently caused the boy's death and, by extension, his mother's death. Two lives lost because of her…not even the memory of saving the village from an enemy invasion could wash that guilt away.

* * *

Valka quietly got dressed: a skirt and apron over a hip length tunic. She tied her hair back into one thick, cascading braid and kicked on her shoes. The sun was nearly up, but the village remained asleep. She carried a basket in her hands, his long skinny fingers woven tightly around its handle. To a casual observer, she was simply a girl off to pick flowers or to go search for herbs…but they didn't know. No one would know.

Each gate had a small door at the base, locked from the outside with a simple chain bolt latch. The dragons couldn't get to it, nor could they escape. It was wide enough for a Viking's hand to fit through, and that was all. Wary of her surroundings, Valka knelt before the Zippleback's door, undid the chain, and slipped two fish inside before locking the door once again. With a sigh of relief, she inched over to the next door, and the next until her basket of fish was spent. She never saw sight of a dragon, but she could hear their hissing breaths, feel the heat emerge from the brief second the latches were open.

Valka rose to her feet, dusting her skirt off. She had been at this for months. Every few days she would sneak down to the ring and give food to the unseen foes. Most days it was table scraps, but every so often she was lucky enough to stash away some fish. She had no idea about their diets, or how often they were fed…but even tiny sacrifice like hers might keep another incident from happening.

One day she might even be brave enough to look.

* * *

"Where have you been off to?" Spitelout grumbled from his armchair, carving away at a block of wood. He blew the sawdust off the piece, causing it to snow wood shavings onto his pants.

"Getting eggs," Valka held up the basket. She had managed to sneak a few eggs from a neighbor's hen house, a perk of rising early. "Where are mum and dad?"

"Dad's at the docks, mum is with Lundy."

"Oooh,"

"Shut it. It's nothing like that."

But Valka could see the blush spreading across her brother's face.

"Mum is helping her sew her dress for the banquet…y'know why." He waved his hands in the air.

Valka nodded; Lundy's mother had lost one of her hands years ago in a raid. Fortunately for her Lundy was a talented housekeeper…unlike Valka.

"Are you going to bid on her?"

"Well, my only other option is you so…yeah."

"What about Odina?"

"Aron will kill me if I mess with his girl."

"Good. I always wanted to be an only child."

He glared at her. "You're insane."

"Love you too."

* * *

After a quick breakfast of eggs (courtesy of Farmer Thrasher), Valka changed into a pair of leggings and slipped back out into the village. A small parade of youths followed behind Gobber as he led them up to the ring. Valka smiled sadly; today was the first day of dragon training in a year. Finn had been made the honorary champion in Valka's class for his valent effort in trying to save Link. That was just fine with Valka; the absence of training had not been missed by her.

Marching off into the woods, Valka began to hum a little. She was not the best singer by any means…but unlike a majority of Vikings she could carry a tune and sing in key. Her feet fell upon a familiar path until she came to a tree. With a smirk of determination, she began to climb branch by branch until she could not go any higher. Satisfied, Valka hooked her knees over the branch and leaned backwards until she dangled. The world was upside down, yet it somehow looked right to her.

Another presence came up onto the ridge. With a belly full of air, Valka called to him.

"MORNING CHIEF!"

Stoick jumped, eyes scanning around before finally looking up.

"GODS ABOVE GIRL!" He shouted, the color returning to his face. "GET OUT OF THAT THORS-DAMNED TREE BEFORE YOU BREAK YOUR NECK!"

Acrobatically, Valka let herself slip off from the first branch, skillfully grabbing onto the one below with her bare hands. She could hear Stoick curse on the forest floor below, his utterances growing slightly less annoyed with every foot she descended. His brows were low.

"I'll not have you risking your life like that. Not on my watch. You're my student."

"I'm finally able to climb up there though. I've been practicing all week."

"You've been doing that for a week!"

"Well…the dangling is new."

Stoick grumbled. "You're becoming reckless girl…" he smiled. "Well done."

Valka gave a mock curtsey before going over to Stoick's pack. Inside was a staff, as long and as reedy as her body, but strong. She tossed the second staff to Stoick; the first time she had seen him wielding a staff it had been a comical sight…but that was months ago. She was used to it by now.

They dueled one another, slow at first, but then faster and faster to the beat of an invisible battle. Three months of weekly training, after a six month hiatus following the tragedy, had only helped Valka with her speed and agility. Her thin form gave her an advantage not just in offense but in defense. There was less of her to strike.

Stoick however, had plenty.

"Dead," she beamed, her staff softly striking Stoick against his chest.

"Not with that weak hit I'm not."

"Do you want me to hit you for real?"

"No, I'd rather not have evidence of being beaten by a beanpole like you."

They lowered their weapons and shook hands.

"Good job today Valka. You'll be ready for a sword next."

"But you're leaving in a few days. Is Gobber going to substitute?"

"Hah! You'd probably go backwards in your training rather than forward." He chuckled heartily. "No, I'm leaving you a month's worth of exercises."

"A month? But you're only supposed to be gone-"

"Two weeks, I know…but you never know what could happen."

They packed up their pack of weapons in silence. To Valka's surprise, the chief actually had broken a sweat! She beamed internally, pride flooding her chest.

"How much money is your brother going to throw away tonight on the bidding?"

"Who knows; he might need another job if he gets into a war over Lundy."

"Has he shown any interest in talking to her dad?"

"Oh I tease him about that all the time, but he's all like 'shut up Valka.'" She lowered her voice into a near perfect impersonation of her brother. Stoick's eyes widened.

"That was scary."

Valka giggled before puffing her chest out and strutting like Spitelout. "Oy Lundy, do you remember when I fell off the roof? It's because I was staring at you, but don't you start smiling about it, a bird had messed in your hair is all"

Stoick snorted. "Oh gods."

Valka straightened, falling into her normal step.

"My mum is helping her with her dress."

"Not yours?"

"Nah," Valka kicked a rock. "I'm probably not going to go up."

"But it's tradition."

She rolled her eyes. Every five years the village had a banquet before the young men shipped off on a voyage to a distant friendly tribe. Every banquet there was an auction of women to raise money to keep the village running. All of the unmarried girls over fifteen were dolled and made up, and the highest bidder won a special dance, or perhaps two. Years ago Valka had watched the girls become unrecognizable in their fancy dresses and painted faces, watched as men shouted out their bids. Sometimes the dances went well, a few couples over the years had ended up getting married after a while. Some dances, however, ended with the girl stomping on her winner's foot and storming off in a rage.

That had been Thorgrimma and Smitelout, years and years ago.

"Without you it'll only be Odina and Lundy…"

"And?" Valka raised a brow.

"Not a lot of funds raised."

"And?"

"Lundy and Odina are both spoken for…well, mostly. If it's just those two then there probably won't be a bidding war. But if you join the mix-"

"HAH!" She screeched in laughter. "You think I'll be the prize of the night?"

"You never know."

"No thank you."

"It's for the good of the village."

"I'm not going to go up there and embarrass myself."

"Thought you'd be used to that by now."

She froze, as did Stoick. The chief's eyes widened, his mouth hung slack. Valka felt pinpricks of tears threatening in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I-I mean, you've said before that you don't really fit in,"

"And I'm supposed to be _okay_ with that?"

"Look, Valka, I didn't mean it like that-"

"Oh I think you know exactly how you meant it. You wouldn't have just blurted it out if you had meant it any other way!"

"All I meant was that I didn't think you'd let things bother you."

"Because I'm _used_ to it?" She didn't think she could cross her arms any tighter. "Just because I'm the town weirdo doesn't mean that I'm used to it, and it certainly doesn't mean that it doesn't bother me! I'm not deaf you know, and I don't have Gronckle skin. I'm not stoic, Stoick!"

She wiped at her eye with her sleeve. Her lips remained pursed in a scowl, though her bottom lip began to tremble in the onset of tears. Stoick straightened, his hands at his belt, his light eyes skyward.

"Whether you come or not tonight is up to you lass, but as your _chief_ ," he emphasized the word strongly. "I suggest that you follow tradition in support of the village."

"Fine, _chief_ ," she hissed. "I'll come embarrass myself, since that is my duty."

"Valka-"

She huffed, tossed her nose in the air, and stormed away.


	7. The Bidding

"I feel stupid," Valka found herself in front of the pearl encrusted mirror, glaring at herself. Ursula hummed behind her, stroking out Valka's long wavy hair until it fell in a smooth cascade to her waist. She wore a leather kransen across her forehead, and a green dress on her body that only made her appear even more like a stick.

"You look beautiful dear," her mother cooed. "Oh I can't wait to see you-"

"Don't get your hopes up mum," Valka slunk away from her mother's hands. "I'm the village weirdo, remember?"

"Oh but Vally, everyone will be there-"

"Goody-"

"And we had a score of visitors today, some merchants, traders-"

"Again, goody."

"I'll not have you doubting yourself Valka Jorgenson," she leaned in close enough to whisper. "Between you and me, men ought to look at you and not Odina."

"You're just saying that because you're my mother."

"That and Odina looks like she'll smack you as soon as kiss you."

"Gods help Aron Hofferson-"

"Which is why he should have chosen you."

"Mum!"

* * *

When she descended down the steps, Smitelout was standing at the bottom dressed in his furs and finery. Valka could not help but notice the gray splattered through his once black beard, the lines surrounding his teal eyes. He beamed at his daughter, though his eyes could not hide the grief of having a spinster daughter.

"You look lovely Vally."

"Thanks daddy," Valka took his arm, dread boiling beneath her skin. "Where's Spite?"

"Already there, he couldn't wait."

"Figures," Valka smiled faintly.

The walk up to Mead Hall felt treacherous despite the uplifted mood in the air. Everyone had dressed their best, forgoing armor for delicate fabrics. Besides weddings, the banquet was the most extravagant of Viking events, no doubt because of the five year gap. Spitelout was heading out on the voyage; he was hoping to butter up the chief for a position of power.

 _Maybe then he'll put poor Lundy out of her misery_ , she thought.

"Oh, there are the girls!" Ursula chirped, seizing her daughter's arm. Glancing over, Valka saw short and pleasantly plump Lundy in a deep red dress, her dark hair curling down to her waist. Beside her, stood the fierce Odina, in a blue as icy as her eyes.

"Why don't you go and join them dear?"

Valka shuddered; Lundy was alright on her own, but with Odina they became obsessed with judging others, as if they were the fates themselves.

Despite her protests, Ursula had shoved Valka in their direction. Soon, Lundy had caught sight of her, and she could not escape the girl's grasp.

"You look great Valka!" Lundy said in a squeak. "Doesn't she Dina?"

"Yeah, great." Odina smirked. Valka's cheeks flared.

"Do you think he'll bid on me?"

"Spitelout?" Valka asked. "Oh yeah, totally."

"I hope so…oh I'll just die if he doesn't. I don't want to dance with anyone else."

"Not even Buffnut?" Odina teased.

"Oh gods Odina, don't even say anything like that."

Odina propped herself up on a fence post, swinging her agile legs. "We need more girls. They should lower the age."

"Or raise it," Valka suggested. "Give men a chance to dance with their wives."

"But they can do that all the time," Lundy giggled. "They want to see young maidens like us."

"Psh, _maidens_ , Lundy?" The blonde grinned.

"Oh shut it Odina!" Lundy pushed at Odina, her face as red as her dress.

"Yes please…" Valka grimaced. "That _is_ my brother."

Odina looked down at Valka haughtily. "I didn't say it was Spitelout…"

Valka's eyes narrowed at Lundy, whose freckled skin had turned crimson. Odina jumped off from her perch, sauntering past the other two girls with her nose in the air and a sway in her hips.

"How _dare-_ "

"It was Spitelout-" Lundy raised her hands up in defense. "I promise Valka. It was Spite."

"I swear to Thor if you _ever_ hurt my brother I'll-"

"Valka!" Lundy hissed under her breath. "Are you even listening to me? Odina is just trying to get under your skin." Valka's wrists were seized by Lundy's hands, the palms of which had grown clammy. "I swear to you, I have been in love with your brother since I was a kid. Even when I should have moved on I couldn't, don't you see?" She leaned in close enough to whisper in Valka's ear. "Besides…it was only once…years ago."

Valka relaxed, but the question on her lips made the hair on her neck stand.

"Why hasn't he asked you Lundy? Started the mundr or-"

Lundy's eyelashes fluttered, shiny with tears. "Oh Valka…"

"I'm sorry! I don't mean to pry it's just…it just seems never ending, doesn't it?"

Lundy stepped back, snatching her hands away from Valka. There was a smile on her face, but her eyes had grown cold.

"Spitelout may love me," she began, her voice steady. "But he loves his little sister more."

"Me?" Valka stammered. "But how? What does that-?"

"I should hate you, you know," Lundy continued. "I could have been a wife and mother by now if it wasn't for you, but Spitelout…your _brother_ …he wants to make sure that _you're_ taken care of first… that if your father dies you'll still have a household."

"He doesn't need to worry about my future," Valka felt her forehead scrunch into her nose.

Lundy huffed. "He seems to think he does. Most of the village does too." The girl leaned in close, and though she was shorter than Valka, the fire in her eyes gave her a towering advantage. "I like you Valka, but I won't have you ruining my future."

"Lundy I-"

"Oy!" Someone called from up above. Odina waved to them. "Come on, we're starting."

* * *

The three girls sat beneath the chief's high seat, eyes watching as hundreds of Vikings stared them up and down. Food would not be served for a time, but the ale was flowing, and already the scent of alcohol lingered in the air. Odina and Lundy whispered in each other's ears, giggling and pointing out into the crowd, but Valka could not bring herself to participate. Her legs bounced anxiously, and her stomach twisted in to unbreakable knots. She could not see her parents, though she caught eye of Spitelout drinking and laughing with the other young men—the impatient bidders.

"Alright, let's get started!" Gobber announced, waving his good arm and hook in the air. Surprisingly, the crowd dispersed back to their seats, save for the young men. Of course there were a few widowers or bachelors in the group of bidders, but for the most part there was a sea of strapping young Vikings in front of them.

"So, tonight we have three young lasses for you all to spend your money on," Gobber said before taking a swallow from his tankard. "Odina, Lundy, and Valka. The highest bidder for each girl will win a dance and, depending on the mood, maybe a little something extra."

The crowd cheered bawdily; Valka turned crimson.

"That's enough Gobber," Stoick said sternly from above. "The money raised will benefit the village during our absence for the next few weeks. Tonight we have a few vikings from visiting tribes-" he gestured into the crowd. Among the bidders there was a great beast of a man with straw colored hair and a prickly beard. His tunic stretched across his barrel of a stomach with difficulty.

"We welcome you to Berk," Stoick continued. "Let's start the bidding then."

Odina stood up, her eyes glancing down at the pool of suitors. She turned once, slowly, swishing the hem of her dress. Cheers went up across the room, and already men had their hands up.

"Ten pieces of gold!" Someone shouted.

"Fifteen!"

"Twenty-five!"

Odina glared into the crowd; she was obviously expecting more.

"Fifty!" Aron Hofferson shouted.

"Fifty five!" Buffnut Thorston countered.

"Sixty!"

Odina glanced over her shoulders at the other girls. She raised them slightly in a shrug, though Valka could not determine if it was a look of embarrassment, or a challenge.

"Eighty!" Aron Hofferson practically screamed. No one countered. Odina beamed.

"Odina to Aron Hofferson!" Gobber announced. "For eighty pieces of gold!"

The crowd applauded. Aron puffed out his chest proudly, slapping Buffnut on the back. Buffnut grinned, nudging his friend with his elbow, graciously admitting defeat. No one was going to win Odina but Aron.

Lundy stood up, her cheeks flushed and rosy. Spitelout's hand immediately shot up.

"Twenty!"

No one else countered. Lundy smiled, pleased at Spitelout's assurance, but then someone called:

"Fifty!"

Gasps arose from the crowd. The other contender was the burly visiting Viking with the straw colored hair. Spitelout glowered at the stranger. Valka's heart raced; surely Spitelout could not afford a counter offer.

"Sixty!"

"Seventy-five!"

"Eighty!"

The pool of men dispersed, leaving Spitelout and the stranger to contend with each other. They glared at one another, neither paying any attention to the girl they fought so vehemently over. Lundy wrung her hands together, glancing back and forth between Odina and Valka, uncertain of what to do.

"One hundred twenty!" The stranger declared proudly, his hands falling to his waist.

Spitelout stammered. The crowd had gone eerily silent, even Gobber couldn't speak. Spitelout glanced up sadly at Lundy, but for a brief moment in time his eyes passed to Valka. She bit her lip, her brows furrowed. A secret message passed between them, an assurance. Valka nodded only slightly, enough to bring the fire back to Spitelout's eyes.

"One hundred and fifty!" He proclaimed. The crowd cheered; the stranger raised his hands in defeat, backing away graciously. No one could hear Gobber declare Spitelout the winner. Lundy doubled over in tears, wearing the widest grin imaginable.

 _Now marry the girl Spite,_ Valka thought proudly.

"Last, we have Valka Jorgenson," Gobber began. The clamour of the crowd died down into silence once more, save for a few mutters. Trembling, Valka stood up, nearly tripping on her dress. She gave a quick twirl, her hands gripping at the material at her hips. She could hear her mother's voice in her mind telling her to smile, so she produced the most forced smile she could manage.

No one spoke.

"Uh…" Gobber muttered. "Let's start the bidding at five pieces of gold."

Even with the discount, no one moved. The stranger who had fought Spitelout for Lundy had disappeared from the floor, along with several other young men. Spitelout looked around, gesturing to his friends to place a bid, but no one did.

Valka felt the burning of threatening tears.

 _Don't you dare cry,_ she thought.

A tear sprang loose.

"Um…" Gobber began again, "Two pieces of gold?"

"Just stop," Valka whispered, though no one could hear her. No one wanted the village weirdo.

"Two hundred!"

Everyone froze: the chief towered above them all, his fist held high in the air.

It took a second for the shock to wear off before the crowd clamored in disbelief.

Gobber called over the uproar. "Stoick! You know that chiefs can't bid."

"I can and I did," Stoick snapped back. "Two hundred, or do I need to make it three?"

Valka glanced up at Stoick, her lips parted.

"Alright then…the chief wins with a bid of two hundred."

There was a scattering of applause; even Valka's parents couldn't find it in themselves to clap.

"Let's uh…let's get the winners out here with their girls."

Stoick descended from his throne. Lundy and Odina stared at Valka, even as Spitelout and Aron took them in their arms. Valka was frozen where she stood, her heart in her shoes.

"Valka?" Stoick called; he was beside her now, his massive hand outstretched, searching. Hundreds of eyes were on them, watching, wondering, waiting.

The eyes continued to stare even as Valka ran out of Mead Hall into the night.


	8. Family Secrets

**Hi folks!**

 **So this is my first message to you in this story. Thank you so much for all of the positive feedback! It's been a long _long_ time since I've written fan fiction, and I was incredibly nervous to start again. I'm glad that so many of you are enjoying my interpretation of Valka's life.**

 **This chapter is a bit long, just to warn you! To clarify things, this story is movie-verse, but there is a bit of book-verse mixed into this chapter. Admittedly I have only read the first book in the series, hence why I don't refer to it often.**

 **Thanks for reading and enjoy!**

* * *

"What in Hel was she thinking?"

"I don't know Smite, I think she was just overwhelmed."

"Overwhelmed? The _chief_ bid on her-"

"But no one else would."

"Blind fools, all of them."

"Calm down Smitelout-"

"How can I be calm? This gods forsaken village shuns my daughter, _my_ blood, my daughter embarrasses our family by denying the chief a dance…never mind that the village won't have that money now."

"Is it truly that big of a deal? Dear, our daughter is upset…don't you remember her face?"

Smitelout paused, his feet falling still after minutes of heavy pacing.

"I never want to see that face on her again."

Valka tucked her knees into her chest. Even whispers in the house carried. She tucked her head beneath her sheet, not even bothering to change out of her dress. She felt sick, her stomach churned like violent seas. Her cheeks were hot, from fever or embarrassment or burning tears she could not determine. She wiped at her eyes for the thousandth time, suppressing the urge to cry once more.

The door to the house opened, the hinges creaked.

"Where is she?" Spitelout said, joining the discussion.

"Upstairs," Ursula answered. "She won't come out."

"I'll make her come out-"

"Son!"

Footsteps stomped up the stairs, landing before her door.

"Valka, open up."

"Go away," she murmured weakly.

The door opened; Valka wished she had a lock. She could not bear to look up at her brother's disappointed, angry face. She burrowed further under her blanket.

"They're looking for you," he began.

"I don't care."

"You should."

"Why, so I can just feel worse?"

"No, so you can give the chief the dance he rightfully paid for."

Valka blinked, poking her head out from underneath her sanctuary. "Paid for?"

Spitelout nodded. "Two hundred pieces of gold, gave it right to Gobber for the collection."

"Why?"

"Because he won a bid on you Valka, and he's an honest man. I think you owe him that."

Now Valka sat up, her voice gravelly. "He only bid on me because he felt sorry for me."

"Does that really matter?" He rolled his eyes. "A bid is a bid."

"I am _not_ dancing with someone just because they felt sorry for me! Bid or no bid!"

"Alright alright!" Spitelout raised his hands in defeat. "Gods you are boar headed."

"Runs in the family," Valka sniffed, though she managed a small smile. "How's Lundy?"

"Thrilled that I won…but more than a little angry from spending that much…said it could have been a murder or whatever…"

"Mundr."

"Yeah that thing," Spitelout sat on the edge of Valka's bed. "Fisk kept on trying to get a dance but I wasn't going to let that happen."

"Fisk? Oh, the visitor."

"Yeah him," Spitelout sneered. "Fisk Ingerman, but if he messes with my girl his name will be Fist In-your-face-man."

Valka snorted. "Wow. You know if you marry Lundy she's off limits."

"I'm not looking to get married anytime soon. I like my freedom."

"Spite-" Valka sighed, resting her hand atop his. "I know that's not true."

His dark brows fell as his eyes turned sad. "She told you huh?"

"Yes, and I'm telling you to stop being so damned stupid." She whacked him on the arm, striking a muscle that caused more pain to her than to him. She swore. "If daddy dies I can take care of myself."

"Not in this world you can't."

"Then I'll find another world."

"And break mum's heart even more?"

"She can come with me, we can get passage on a ship, find another place and start over."

"Valka-"

"Maybe there won't be any dragons there," she whispered, the idea enchanting her. No more dragon raids, no more fights, no more starving dragons in locked cages…

"You're thinking of a fantasy word. Get your head out of the clouds and stay on the ground. Maybe then the men around here will think you're normal enough to actually bid on." His eyes widened the moment the last syllable left his lips. Valka straightened, her back rigid as ice.

"Tell me how you really feel Spite."

"Vally-"

"Get out."

"I'm sorry-"

"NOW!"

Spitelout slunk out of the room without another word.

* * *

No amount of bargaining from her mother could coax Valka out of her room. Ursula had promised to make her favorite meals, to bake a treat, to spend time together…but to no avail. Smitelout had threatened Valka with extra chores and other miscellaneous punishments, with no success. Spitelout just avoided Valka's room entirely. He and the other young men left for their voyage two days after the banquet; Valka hadn't even wished him safe travels.

One morning, while sliding Valka's breakfast inside the door, Ursula also delivered a note. It was decidedly Stoick's handwriting.

Valka had sighed, expecting a long winded explanation, but found only instructions.

 _Run from your house to the ring and back every morning. Lift the rocks. Work with the staff…_ on and on it went. Valka held it limply in her hands for a moment, before ripping the parchment to shreds.

The only thing that got Valka out of her misery was remembering the dragons in their pens.

* * *

After five days of seclusion, Valka rose before the sun. The morning was chilly, frost crunched beneath her feet as she marched to and from the ring. The stars had begun to fade by the time she reached her door, but a quick listen at the threshold alerted Valka that she was not alone.

"Ursula will be up soon. You need to leave."

"Not until we make a deal."

"I gave you my offer-"

"Not good enough Lout. Your chief is gone, now is the time to act."

"I can't-"

"You've grown weak in your old age."

"Look in the mirror then."

Valka tried to sneak close to the window to see who her father was conversing with…but the interloper was pacing around the room, coming too close for comfort.

"How is your family by the way?"

"They're fine."

"Thorgrimma's boy off on the little trip?"

"Yes."

"And how about the runt-"

"That is my daughter you're talking about. Watch your mouth."

"Oh yes, my apologies. She is a bit scrawny though isn't she?"

Smitelout said nothing.

 _Thanks dad,_ Valka frowned.

"Perhaps I can add in another offer to entice you: matches for your children?"

"Spitelout is spoken for."

"The girl then-"

"No."

"You'll change your mind."

"I told you three years ago that we needed to end this."

The other voice was silent for a minute, but Valka could still hear footsteps circling.

"You made your choice; one way or another you will answer to it. Blood Moons never forget, and we'll _never_ forgive."

Valka's stomach lurched.

"That's Ursula. You need to leave."

"I thought she would like seeing a friendly face."

"Not _your_ face…" Smitelout's voice was oozing with venom. "Now get out."

Valka swiftly ducked behind the corner of the house, covering her mouth just as the front door squeaked open. Heavy footsteps shuffled in the dirt, the sound growing distant until disappearing entirely. Valka shuddered, rested her head in her palms.

"Smite? Are you alright?" She could hear the sleepy voice of her mother greeting her father.

"Yes love, just…needed some air, needed to think."

"I'll fix you some eggs-"

Her mother gasped in surprise. Valka jumped, her heart galloping in her chest as she sprung up to the window to see what had frightened her mother. She hoped—she _prayed_ that whatever her father had meant by a deal with the Blood Moon visitor, that he had not acted irrationally, villainously.

No. Instead, Smitelout had Ursula in a crushing embrace, his lips pressed hungrily against hers. Ursula held up a frying pan in one hand, but slowly dropped her arm—and the intruding pan, until it fell to the floor.

When they separated, Smitelout's slightly bulbous nose was pressed against Ursula's long, dainty one. They moved together until their foreheads touched.

"I love you," he said hoarsely. "So much it kills me."

"Shh…don't speak like that-"

"Maybe we should leave Berk, take that honeymoon we never had-"

"And leave Valka?"

"She can come too-"

"Some honeymoon…"

Smitelout straightened. "Something is happening Ursula, something bad…and I can't stop it."

"You're frightening me…what has you all-"

"It's Mercer."

Silence. A quiet so thick Valka could imagine cutting through it with a butter knife. Through her limited view, Valka saw her mother take three trembling steps back away from her father…her hands drawn up to her face.

"I thought that had ended, three years ago—you _told_ me!"

"I know I know! I thought it had too."

"And he just showed up, right now? Right when Stoick and all the boys are gone? How did he-"

"It's news all across the Archipelago Ursula, don't blame me-"

 _Smack!_

Ursula's hand landed straight across Smitelout's cheek. Valka gasped, as did Ursula, both shocked at her sudden display of violence. Valka could see tears forming in her mother's eyes.

"I…I told you, seventeen years ago…no woman was worth the price of an island."

Smitelout straightened, his hand never rose to meet the red streak.

"And I told you seventeen years ago that you were the only one who was worth it. I would move mountains for you Ursula…I always have and I always will."

"Smite-"

"They're not going to stop, not until they have Berk or-"

"No…no don't even suggest that. Don't you dare!"

"I'm the one who messed up. I'm the one who made a mistake."

"Valka was never a mistake!"

It was at that moment, right then that Smitelout glanced in the direction of the window, seeing his daughter's beautiful sea green eyes piercing through the glass, right into him. He went rigid; Ursula's face dropped in shame and horror. No one moved. No one spoke. Valka could only stare.

* * *

Valka sat at the table, a mug of bitter tea in her grasp, though it had turned cold. Her eyes remained downcast, even as her father, and occasionally her mother, paced around the room. The sun had risen fully, their shadows paraded across the floorboards like clouds across a field. Her feet had grown numb from the lack of motion, she couldn't even bring herself to wiggle her toes.

Valka, the bastard daughter of Smitelout.

"He made it right though," Ursula tapped her daughter's hand firmly. "He married me as soon as he could, before I was even showing. No one on Berk suspected a thing. We wanted you so badly Valka."

"Aye, and I loved your mother, almost as much as I love her today."

Valka swallowed, nodding weakly.

"So I'm…part Blood Moon?"

Surprisingly, Ursula giggled. "Vally, just because you're born into a tribe doesn't mean you _act_ like that tribe. Look at me!" She gestured to herself. "Would you think I was a Blood Moon?"

Valka shook her head.

"Exactly."

"So Mercer is your-"

"Cousin," both of her parents answered before Ursula continued. "Thank the gods he's nothing more than that…but yes, Mercer is my cousin. He became chief when I was still living there."

Valka glanced at her father. "And to marry mum…you promised him Berk?"

Smitelout looked away in shame.

"Vally," Ursula continued. "Your father's life was on the line. He had broken the law-"

"And he broke Berk's at the same time." Her words slipped out like ice.

"It was the only thing that would satisfy Mercer-"

"And you've been contacting him ever since?"

"No!" Smitelout hollered. "For the longest time he never came around. You were thirteen-"

"Oh gods," Valka shuddered. " _You_ were the one who told them about the voyage. _You're_ the reason that Chief Frey was killed!"

"And you're the one that stopped it all!" Ursula shrieked, her cheeks flared. "Valka, _you_ were the one who heard them out in the woods. You helped Berk prepare!"

"But it wasn't good enough!"

"We thought Mercer had been killed that night-"

"But he wasn't," Valka hissed.

"No…" Smitelout sighed. "He wasn't."

The man straightened, his eyes weary and weathered. His hands clenched and unclenched, as if holding an invisible axe or hammer. His mouth was a firm line.

"Mercer knows that Stoick and the men are gone, but he doesn't know _where_ they've gone."

"And where have they gone?" Ursula raised a brow.

"Right next door."

 _The Meatheads!_

Valka couldn't help but beam. The Meathead clan was only a day's sail away. They remained Berk's closest ally, literally.

"You're sure that they're there?"

"Positive. Ask Gobber if you don't believe me."

"What are you going to do?" Valka asked.

"Go there myself and bring them home."

"But Smite-"

Smitelout shushed Ursula with a glance. "There are more important things right now. If I have to pay for my crimes to put this nightmare behind us, then so be it, but this war needs to end."

"I'll go with you!" Valka blurted suddenly.

"Out of the question-" Ursula began, but Smitelout shook his head dejectedly.

"Valka, I need you here. I need you to keep your mother safe, and as many of the villagers as you can. You know this island better than anyone. If we don't make it back in time…I'm trusting you with the lives of our people…can you do that for me?"

"They won't _listen_ to me-"

"Make them. They may think you are worth less than them, but Valka you're worth more than the sorry lot of them put together." He brought his forehead down against hers. She trembled, out of fear or anger she was not sure, but Smitelout held her tighter. "You might feel like a flightless bird, but you've got dragon wings on you. Show them. Prove them all wrong."

Valka sniffled, and nodded. "I'll try daddy."

 _Gods,_ she prayed, _let them make it home in time_.


	9. On Meathead Island

Stoick eyed the dancing girls over the top of his mug. They were elegant creatures, their bodies thick with muscles, particularly their thighs. They smiled as they danced, waving red scarves around and around as the music's tempo increased. Then, the six younger girls surrounded the eldest—the obvious leader—in a circle. One of the dancers tied her red scarf around the leader's head, covering her eyes. The leader made a show of demonstrating her apparent blindness while the remaining dancers scattered. The drums grew louder, the girls began to clap. The leader feigned helplessness until her awkward movements became dizzying spins. She rose up on her toes, arms arched above her head, before she left the security of her single spot and leapt around the dancefloor, still entirely blinded. Stoick could not determine if it was luck, skill, or magic that led the dancer around without injury. He imagined what a woman like her would be like out on the battlefield.

With one final spin, the dancer removed her blindfold and collapsed into a bow.

The hall erupted with applause.

"Brilliant!" The Meat Head chief slammed his stein against the table in applause, spilling his beer. "Our own Valkyrie come to Midgard—Solfrid!"

The applause grew louder as the dancers bowed once more, before disappearing into the crowd. Stoick noticed a few of his men staring after them, including Spitelout Jorgenson!

 _Keep it in your britches boy,_ Stoick scowled.

Mo, the Meat Head chief, clapped Stoick on the back. The elder chief's meaty palm was fat and drenched in a noxious mixture of sweat and beer.

"Ain't they beautiful? They've been at this since they were kids. Their feet look worse than my face after a fight!"

"That so?" Stoick grumbled. Mo had certainly drank his fill, and then some.

"Aye, and Solfrid…every man on this island is head over heels for her, myself included…but don't tell my wife." He glanced over to where a heavyset woman with two auburn looped braids threw back a tankard, the foam of her beer giving her a bubbly mustache.

Stoick shuddered. "I won't…"

Mo took another swallow.

"Where's your pal Gobber?"

"At Berk—he runs the arena, trains new recruits."

"Aye, I heard about what happened last year. Shame…Gobber and I are related you know…our great-great-great Grammies were sisters!"

"So I've heard…when you told me two days ago."

Mo ignored the comment. His eyes lit up; the beloved Solfrid was approaching their table.

She had changed out of her dance clothes, and was wearing a simple white shift topped with a green apron dress. The brooches were bronze, carved with the emblem of swimming fish.

"Solfrid! Wonderful performance, as always!"

The loose blonde ringlets, tucked beneath her kransen, bobbed as she nodded.

"Thank you chief."

"May I introduce you to Chief Stoick, of Berk?"

Solfrid gave a blinding smile in his direction. He could not help but notice that her front teeth were large and slightly crooked. "It is an honor, Chief Stoick. Would you care to dance?"

Stoick felt his cheeks flare. "Oh, no thank you miss. I'm not a fan of dancing."

Solfrid's smile faltered, but she nodded once more before taking her leave.

Mo glowered. "It's not every day Solfrid asks a man to dance."

"I'm not here to dance; I'm here to negotiate and keep peace between our tribes."

"Oh Stoick my boy!" This amused the Meat Head chief. "You need to take life a little less seriously. You're starting to sound like your father! Frey the Grey, Odin bless him, was always such a stick in the mud. All business and no pleasure. You haven't even finished your first beer yet!"

"Someone in my party needs to stay sober," Stoick rose abruptly. "Excuse me."

He marched across the crowded hall, squeezing himself between drunks and flirts. He muttered his pardons, fighting his way through the throng, until he came upon his fellow Berkians, who were effectively sloshed.

"We set sail tomorrow, whether you're healthy or not," he folded his arms across his chest. Spitelout was giggling, clapping Fisk on his shoulder…odd considering there had been nothing but ill will between them. Buffnut Thorston was falling asleep, the heel of his palm digging into his cheek. Aron Hofferson twiddled his knife between his fingers, as if daring someone to fight him. Some of the other men, the younger ones, had gone off to dance. The older ones had settled in with friends amongst the Meat Head clan. It was these men whose behavior concerned him the most: they would be his brothers in arms.

And they were idiots.

"How many have you had, Aron?" he asked.

"Five," the blond answered gruffly.

"And you, Fisk?"

The burly man held up five fingers. Stoick sighed; he had taken a liking to Fisk Ingerman, and had already offered him a new life on Berk. He did not even bother asking Buffnut, who was beginning to drool onto the table. Spitelout puffed out his chest and proudly proclaimed that he had drank eight mugs full.

"Need I remind you that we aren't on Berk?"

"All the more reason to celebrate!" Spitelout beamed. "My old man can't glare daggers at me!"

"Your old man is an honorable man who wants to keep his only son from making a complete ass out of himself. I saw you staring after those girls…did you forget you have a girl waiting for you at home?"

That seemed to shut Spitelout up. His eyes went from sparkling with the giddiness of drink, to a dour, muted tone. Still, he tossed back his remaining flagon, wiped at his mouth and muttered: "Nine."

Stoick felt his temper rising. He decided to leave, while he still had control of his mouth. He bypassed the crowd, sneaking past Mo's line of sight, and snuck out the back door.

For all of its slovenliness, Meathead Island was charming. Smaller than Berk, the whole of the island gently sloped down to the sea on either side. There were no treacherous cliffs or hazardous bluffs. You had an almost panoramic view no matter where you were, which proved useful in raids. The buildings were simple and quaint, with thatched rooves and long windows. Stoick supposed the Meatheads had more important things to concern themselves with than the elaborate construction of houses…such as drinking.

The stars glistened overhead. It was a clear night, but a cold one. Winter would be coming soon enough, not long after their planned return to Berk. He pulled his mantle about him and shivered.

Yes. He suspected that there would be plenty of ice awaiting him back home.

"Oh!" a voice squeaked behind him. Solfrid stood in the doorway, her eyes wide in genuine surprise. "I'm so sorry Chief Stoick—I thought that you were with Mo-"

"It's alright miss, I didn't mean to startle you."

The light disappeared; Solfrid had shut the door into the hall. She had wrapped a fur around her shoulders. In the dim torch light, her golden hair nearly matched the color of her brooches.

"My tribe knows how to throw a party, huh?" She asked with a smirk.

"You certainly have us beat in volume…and in entertainment."

"Chief Mo is always asking us to perform…I think he's seen every dance of ours. He could probably join in if he wasn't so…" she gestured widely around her belly, puffing out her cheeks. Stoick laughed.

"Get him drunk enough he'd do all those spins of yours…how'd you do that anyway?"

"Same way you become a great warrior: practice and guts." She nodded over towards the nearest torch. "See that light? When I start my spins I focus on one single object in the room." She rose up on her toes and slowly began to turn. "When your body starts going too far around, that's when you finally bring your head around with you…but as soon as you see the object again, you stare at it again." She proceeded to perform a dozen quick spins, whipping her head around faster than her body seemed capable.

"And you're not dizzy at all?"

"Hardly ever," there was a faint flush to her cheeks. "I had to practice for months without the blindfold, then I had to start all over with it. Would you like to know a secret?"

Stoick nodded. Solfrid gestured for him to bend down. Stoick obliged. His eyes were immediately covered with the blindfold worn only minutes ago by the girl in front of him.

"What do you see?" she asked.

Surpringly, right in the middle of the blindfold, there was single pinhole. The girl was so close, he could see the pale, cool green of her eyes, dotted with soft specks of gold.

"Your nose," he lied.

"I put my looking spot right in that hole, that way I can do all those spins, and see where I'm going at the same time." Solfrid removed the blindfold, and tucked it neatly into her apron. "Trade secret."

"It's safe with me," Stoick found himself smiling. The girl before him was as charming as she was talented. If he had been a less honorable man or in an intoxicated sate, he would have had to resist the urge to kiss her. Instead, his eyes landed on her brooches…where he saw a peculiar sight.

"Do the fish on your brooches have…legs?"

Solfrid giggled. "Aye they do. It's an old family tale."

"I'd like to hear it."

"Well, my great-grandpa had this crazy idea that Vikings came from the sea…literally, as fish. That one day they just decided they were going to go on dry land and live there…they sprouted legs and everything! He would ramble on and on about how it's the reason why Vikings love the sea…they started calling him Fishlegs, and the man preferred that to his real name in the end!"

Stoick grinned. "So I take it that's your family crest?"

"And proud of it. He may have been crazy but he was the smartest Viking this island has ever seen. Could memorize a book just by glancing at it, at least that's what they told me." She pulled her fur wrap tighter around her shoulders. "He entertained everyone, so I think that's my legacy to continue…just with dancing and not crazy theories."

"That's a good legacy to have."

Solfrid glanced up at him, her eyelashes curled over her eyes.

"And do you have a legacy to continue, Chief Stoick?"

The softness of her voice did not go undetected. Cautiously, he inched away.

"As chief I probably have a hundred legacies to uphold…the most important one being to protect my people."

"Any one in particular?"

"I—huh?"

Despite the distance that he had put between them, Solfrid had settled right beside him.

"Any one in particular that you need to protect? A sweetheart?"

He found that she was staring at his hand, searching for a ring.

"Oh! Uh…no…"

Her hand, tiny and plump, landed on his. "What a shame. No lady-chief to help you hold up the mantle?"

"I have…been chief for a few years now…"

Solfrid did not speak. Instead, she launched herself into his arms and kissed Stoick fully on the mouth. It was warm and firm, and for a moment Stoick kissed her back…but there was something _off_ about the body in his arms. Something that did not feel right.

"Stop," he tilted her chin down gently. He was holding her up with one arm around her waist so that their eyes could meet. Hers had grown wide with fright and guilt.

"You're a nice girl," Stoick began, "but I'm not interested in any sort of romance, with anyone. Not now at least."

Solfrid had tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry…I just…I thought…"

"Thought you could get the Chief of Berk to like you?" Stoick said, though not maliciously. "I do like you Solfrid, but I hardly know you."

"No, you don't understand…" she shuddered. "There are hardly any men here for us…not close to our age, not of the right…mindset. Meathead men are just that, meat heads. I had a friend once…she had to marry a fifty year old man when she was _thirteen_ …and he beat her because she cried. No one listened to her, it was just okay for him to do that. One day he took it too far and…"

"I'm sorry."

Solfrid sniffed. "And you see how Mo lusts after us girl. Women mean nothing here...marriage means nothing here. We, the girls and I, had thought that perhaps-"

"Perhaps you could find Berk husbands?"

"I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be."

"I'm not a…I'm not a flirt. Really."

"I've met a few of those in my life, and no, you're not."

Solfrid smiled sadly. "I'm so embarrassed."

"Well, you've got my attention." Stoick felt his anger rising again. "I was close to my mum, more than my dad. We both respected her. I never saw him lay a finger on her, or even see him look at another woman. If things are truly that bad here-"

"They are. Ask any of the other dancers, especially Hilly."

"Which one is she?"

"Tall, blonde, long arms…the one who blindfolded me."

"Ah."

"We're the oldest, so naturally…"

"You're next in line."

"Exactly."

He held her at arm's length, feeling more like a parent than a friend to the beautiful young woman.

"Listen, hang on just a little longer. We have several more tribes to visit, but we'll circle back here. We'll say we ran out of supplies for the trip home. Mo will fall for it. Make sure that you and Hilly are packed and we'll sneak you onboard."

"But what about the others?"

Stoick shook his head. "We can't take all of you or it'll look too suspicious. Two girls missing makes it look like stowaways or that you've fallen for some of my men. All of you? That'll be a conspiracy."

"I see," Solfrid sighed. "What about three?"

"Three could work. Who else?"

"My sister, Phlegma. She's a year younger than me, but she doesn't dance."

"You would leave your parents childless?"

"Mum's been dead for two years. Dad…isn't really around."

"Oh…Odin, I'm sorry. Yes, we can make do with three, and when the time comes we'll get the other girls…or I'll come here and knock some sense into that chief of yours myself."

The sun itself couldn't outshine Solfrid's smile.

"I pledge my loyalty to you, Chief Stoick. I'll do whatever you ask, Phlegma and Hilly will too."

"Like I said, wait a little longer, and be prepared."

"Yes sir, thank you! I have to tell them! Thank you, _thank you_!"

Solfrid ran off, practically skipping with a dancer's grace. Stoick found himself smiling. In a week, he gained four new tribe members. More mouths to feed, but more hands to help. Besides, if the girls were safe then nothing else really mattered. He'd see to it that they found suitable, _loving_ husbands.

Perhaps, maybe when things settled, he'd find a wife.

"A lady chief," he mused. "To help me hold up my mantle."

A thought flickered through his mind like a firefly, lit one second then gone the next. He shook his head, as if the pesky bug had indeed entered his skull, and put the ridiculous notion behind him.

Light poured out from inside the hall as someone opened a door. Stoick turned, expecting to find Solfrid, but instead it was Fisk Ingerman.

"Chief, we need you inside," he began.

"Don't tell me Spitelout picked a fight-"

"No sir, it's not that. Spitelout's _father_ is here."

Stoick froze. "Smitelout? Here? Why?"

The firefly returned to his mind, frantically flashing.

"That's why we need you sir. Something's wrong."

"Valka-"

"Who?" Fisk asked before continuing. "No sir. Something about Blood Moons."


	10. The Battle for Berk

"Finn Hofferson! What in Odin's name do you think you're doing!?"

Valka was carrying a weeping baby in her arms, its mother lagging behind. The blond youth had charged past her, ax in hand, helmet brought down on his forehead. He had grown in the past year, but remained lanky, having not yet developed warrior muscles.

"They need warriors!"

"If the Blood Moons don't kill you then your mom will!"

"She's right boy," Gobber hobbled up, his mallet screwed onto his arm. "And I won't have Ingrid Hofferson murdering her own son out of fear that he almost got himself killed."

"But I can fight!"

"You're still just a lad. Let your elders fight this one."

"So you're going to let _her_ fight?" Finn's nose scrunched up at Valka in distaste.

"Just shut up and get someplace safe!" She found herself shouting. The baby in her arms stared up at her with wide eyes before letting out a small giggle. Valka rolled her eyes.

 _Not even a baby can take me seriously…_

Valka jogged up the slope towards the farms to where the unarmed were lowering themselves into trapdoors. She could hear the voice of her mother calling out directions. She could hear Lundy with the children whose parents had armed themselves for battle. Valka gave the baby to her with a solemn nod, reassuring the winded mother who trudged up the hill behind her.

"Are there any others?" Lundy asked.

"No, that's all of the unarmed."

The two girls glanced down towards the village. The Blood Moons had landed minutes ago, but the evacuation had started hours ago. The second a sail had been spotted by a lookout, Berk had been hurled into organized chaos. Valka herself had led the evacuation, having made five frenzied trips up and down the hills. She might not be strong, but she could run.

Fire exploded at the edge of the village, down by the docks. Lundy and Valka winced.

"Are you sure your dad's coming back with them?"

"He has to be, he left two days ago."

"Maybe they won't believe him…how did he know about this again?"

Valka furrowed her brow. "They'll be here. They will. Now get inside."

"What about you?"

"There's something I have to do-"

"Are you crazy!? You can't fight down there!"

"Just stay here!"

"Valka!"

But Valka had already started off at a sprint. Despite the stiffness in her legs there was breath in her lungs. No one could catch her, and no one stopped her. There was no one to stop her; everyone left on Berk was tucked away or in the throng of battle. It had become apparent during the evacuation that Berk was severely outnumbered.

"There's no way," Gobber had told her. "Blood Moons are crazier than Berserkers. We'd need a miracle on our side."

 _Well, I'm working on that miracle,_ Valka thought as she ran.

And she'd probably be dead because of it.

Oh well.

She moved parallel to the bulk of the village, keeping the growing inferno within her sights at all times. Figures danced against the flames, metal meeting metal with each clash of weapons. Odina had practically flown into battle, like the Valkyrie she would no doubt become one distant day. The older warriors had suited up and formed an impatient queue at Gobber's shop.

"I need to get myself an assistant!" he had groaned as sparks flew from the grinders. Valka had volunteered, but the brusque Viking had shooed her away saying: "I don't trust you around sharp things."

So instead, she had doubled her evacuation efforts. They could not dock the ships on the other side of the island, nor could they sail away in time. Safe spots were marked on maps, beginning in barns before heading deeper into the forest. If they could not fight, the villagers would run, at least until reinforcements arrived… if they did at all.

"Come on daddy…" Valka exhaled as she ran. The chained dome of the arena came into view over the crest of a hill. She shifted her trajectory towards the bridge. The fight had not reached the arena, at least not yet. The ring's weapons had been distributed among able bodied Vikings save for one: a staff.

" _You can't kill a dragon with a staff…"_ Stoick had told her their first day in the forest.

"But it's a start," Valka growled as her feet went from grass to stone. Even from a short distance away, Valka could hear the distressed cries of the dragons locked away, agitated with their blindness at the events unfolding outside their cages. Valka raised the gate to the ring, slowing her gait to a timid walk. It was dark and, save for the yellow eyes of the dragons, she was alone.

Suddenly, she was afraid.

"Gods," she sucked in a breath. She reached behind an empty crate for her staff, the same one that she had been using in her training sessions. It felt familiar to her, her hands found the small grooves her grip had made. With a gulp, she stepped towards the locked gates. The cries had died down, as though the dragons knew who approached.

This time though, Valka was not a deliverer of food.

"Thor help me," she whispered, her hand falling on the lock to the Nadder's pen. The latch released, and the door slowly, painfully opened.

Valka trembled. Out of the shadows, a pair of venomous yellow eyes glared at her. The Nadder squawked low, a warning, before its talons clacked onto the stone feet away from where Valka cowered. She could hear its spines clacking, its poison filling the quills from base to tip.

Careful to not startle the beast as it stretched its body, Valka crept over to the Gronkle's pen. The round dragon rolled over, its tiny wings limp and momentarily useless before it hovered. Valka dodged out of the way of its bumbling body in order to release the Zippleback, who emerged from its cage in a shroud of smog.

All four dragons glared at Valka, their jaws quivering as if debating whether or not to fire.

The only positive Valka saw was that there was no Nightmare.

 _Run!_ Every instinct, every cell in her body screamed at her, but Valka was frozen. Despite the heat emitting from the beasts before her, she felt cold to the touch, her boots blocks of ice.

"Oh gosh…oh gods…"

The Nadder squawked, silencing Valka immediately. She raised up her staff in alarm, holding it against her chest in a vice grip, but that only agitated the dragon further. Certain that it would lunge towards her, Valka dove, curling herself into as tight of a ball as possible. Only in the silence that followed did she peek: the dragons stared at her, but their attention quickly turned to the open gates.

Was it possible for dragons to _smile_? All four heads glanced at one another, their mouths opened it what appeared to be grins of joy. The Nadder moved first, practically flying as he ran, followed by the trotting Zippleback and the bounding Gronkle. Once they had cleared the gate, their wings spread victoriously as they took to the darkened sky.

Valka trembled.

"No…" she whimpered, her legs too numb to stand. "No, no, no! Come back! Help us!"

Of course they wouldn't help, why would they, why _should_ they? Valka had foolishly believed that freedom, and the hunger for a fresh meal might entice them to at least stick around. Perhaps the fires would encourage them…level the playing field…but no.

Valka sobbed.

"All my fault…this is all _my_ fault…."

If only she had not been born—

 _No_. A voice commanded her from within. Valka grit her teeth. Though the shock of the previous moments had left her weak, she pulled herself up with her staff and stood tall.

Valka Jorgenson may have been born because of a mistake, but _she_ was not a mistake. She was not useless, she was not weak. She would accept oddball and strange…but not hopeless.

 _We'll make a warrior out of you yet…_ Stoick had told her three years ago, as he had stared at her, impressed with her tenacity.

"No time like the present," she murmured.

Staff in hand, Valka marched out of the ring, the distant fires of Berk burning in her eyes.

* * *

Mudpie Lufthead was dead…Valka tried to hold down her vomit as she stood over the bruised and bloodied body of the baker. Mudpie had been soft in the body, as well as a touch soft in the heart…but still he had suited up when Berk needed him. No more delicious treats from the bread making Viking…but Mudpie had one final gift to give to Valka.

"I'm sorry Mr. Lufthead," Valka whispered as she reached into his belt. His primary weapon may have been taken from him, but he still had a knife on him. It was a start.

The battle had shifted: bodies were strewn across the paths like stars in constellations. Valka recognized some of the fallen, others were complete strangers. Valhalla would be busy tonight, as Odin welcomed Midgard's finest warriors. She wondered if there was rivalry in the heavens…if a Berkian and a Blood Moon would sit side by side at the feasts without issue. Was all forgiven? After all, you could not control what tribe you were born into…like her mother.

Ursula, a Blood Moon…Valka never would have guessed. She was too gentle for Berk standards, but for Blood Moon? The thought was laughable.

A footstep landed near her as she crept. Staff at the ready in her trembling hands, the knife within reach, Valka jumped to face her opponent, only to meet Odina's icy blue gaze.

"Loki's loins Valka!" The girl spat, tossing her hair out of her eyes. She rolled her axe in her hands, which were covered in blood. A cut spread across her cheek; her bottom lip was swollen. "What are you doing out here? Where's Lundy?"

Valka relaxed, but only slightly. "Up with the others."

"Which is _exactly_ where you should be!"

"I had to do something first-"

"Then do it and get lost! You'll just be in the way."

"I can fight-"

"HAH!" Odina winced at her volume. "That's hysterical."

"Stoick's been teaching me-"

"Ahh, so that's why our chief bid on you. What _exactly_ has he been teaching you huh?"

Despite all of her instincts telling her not do, Valka pushed her staff up against Odina's collarbone, pining her against the wall. Odina's icy glare turned into white hot fury.

"It is _nothing—like-that_." Valka sneered.

"You're right," Odina smirked. "He'd never want a fish bone like you."

Valka spun her staff until the tip was up against the fleshy underside of Odina's throat.

"I suggest you shut your mouth before you see _exactly_ what he's been teaching me."

Oddly enough, Odina nodded weakly, her hands up in surrender. Valka relented.

"Where is everyone?"

Odina caught her breath. "Village circle: they're making their way towards Mead Hall."

"Gobber still up?"

"Yeah he's up…can't say much about his technique but-"

"Finn?"

Odina grinned. " _Fearless_ Finn? He's like a Berserker out there. Little brother has guts."

Valka sighed in relief, but she dared not ask about anyone else. Instead she started off, Odina on her heels before overtaking her. Valka had a feeling that the girl did not like anyone outpacing her, so instead she fell back into Odina's footsteps, as they ran towards the awaiting arms of chaos.

* * *

"We're too late-" Smitelout exhaled grimly, his eyes locked on the fire and smoke rising from Berk. Stoick stood beside him, his red brows furrowed in thought. When Smitelout Jorgenson had showed up on Meathead Island, Stoick had thought it was all a false alarm…but then the man had confessed to his true crimes, and everything had horrifically started to make sense.

A lesser chief would have executed a traitor on sight, but Stoick stayed his hand. Spitelout was there, red faced and outraged, and Stoick could not trust his judgement. Besides, perhaps it was all a mistake; why risk executing an innocent man? Now, gazing at his village burning, Stoick realized the gravity of it all, that the man bound beside him really was a traitor.

But the horror in his eyes, the fear that turned his complexion pale…Stoick almost pitied him.

"They don't know we're coming," he answered. Glancing behind him, Stoick saw not only his ship, but a fleet of Meathead boats: reinforcements. He beamed. The night sky and the smoke from the fire provided enough coverage to sail in undetected. If Gobber had organized the villagers to fight towards the docks, and if Stoick and his men fought from the docks, the Blood Moons would be stuck.

"Chief?" Smitelout called. Stoick nodded in response, though he did not look at the man.

"My family is innocent in this…Spitelout and…and Valka. I dragged Ursula into this with my foolishness…it's my fault and mine alone. Please…don't punish them for my stupidity."

Stoick exhaled deeply through his nose. He wished Gobber was there with him; Gobber was the water bearer to Stoick's fiery temper, the one who could douse the inferno. He wanted to hate this man, to deny him his every request for the horror he had brought to his people, for the death of his father…but he could not, nor could he give a reason for his placidness.

"My first priority is Berk," he answered firmly. Smitelout nodded, lowering his eyes in shame. A chill ran from the base of Stoick's skull all the way down his legs. Stoick had never realized that Smitelout had given Valka his eyes; that cool sea glass shade of green that reminded him of waves preceding a storm. Quiet fury, muted strength, beautiful danger.

"Valka will be safe," he said suddenly. "As far as I'm concerned she is an innocent in this."

Smitelout looked close to tears. "Thank you, chief. Thank you."

"Tell me," Stoick continued, clearing his throat. "Did my bidding upset her that much?"

"Huh?" Smitelout raised a graying eyebrow. Stoick looked away, his hands falling on his axe, testing the blade.

 _Keep your head about you man,_ he chastised himself.

Smitelout remained silent, eerily silent. When Stoick glanced over his shoulder, he saw the man glancing up at him, with a crooked, all-knowing smile on his lips.

* * *

"There's too many of them!"

"Keep fighting!" Valka called over her shoulder to Odina. Their branch of the battle had one goal: to keep the Blood Moons away from where the civilians were hiding. It was a small, battered bunch; most of Berk's force had been deployed to defend the bulk of Berk, including Mead Hall. Over the throng of battle Valka could hear Gobber hollering orders.

"Come on dad…" she muttered, teetering on hopelessness. Over the course of the battle Valka had gone from staff to knife to sword. The steel of the sword was heavier than the wood of her staff, but it caused greater injury to her opponents. Once, after she had knocked a Blood Moon warrior out with the pommel, Valka had caught Odina practically beaming at her with pride. The moment was short lived, however, as Odina had swung her axe into the spinal cord of a hammer wielding foe, her warrior sneer reemerging.

"We need reinforcements," Odina ran up to Valka, breathless. The handful of other Berkians gathered around them, wounded and winded. Some needed medical attention, but they refused to leave the crux of the battle.

"Should we move the others?" Drool Fjordman asked, leaning against his hammer.

"That'll take too long," Odina said coolly, though Valka could hear the worry in her voice. "We need to rejoin the other warriors and make a full front."

"We'll just exhaust ourselves faster," Drool countered. Umber Blight and Hedda Welch nodded in agreement. "We need to start thinking about a retreat."

"Only cowards retreat," Odina hissed.

"No one is retreating," Valka interrupted. To her great surprised, everyone stopped and listened. "Odina is right, we need to assist Gobber's branch and attack them head on. Think about what the chief would want us to do until he _gets_ here."

Heads began to nod, understanding.

"If Stoick and the others are coming," Hedda began, "How are we supposed to know? We can't see anything in this smoke."

Valka smiled, "Leave that to me."

* * *

Every muscle in her body screamed in protest. Every bone felt as though it was going to crack, but still Valka climbed. She knew this forest, she knew which tree was the tallest, and she knew that if she could get herself high enough she could look out above the smoke and see the leagues of open ocean that surrounded their island.

She caught her breath, leaning against the trunk of the tree about midway up. On her back, she had a bow and three arrows wrapped in damp cloth. In her pocket there was flint rock. Her code was simple: a lit arrow meant help was on the way, and nothing meant…nothing.

Already she was higher than the tree she had hung from just over a week ago. Heights never bothered her, but a new fear was brewing: falling. Her mind told her to not look down, but instinct told her to do just the opposite.

"Don't be stupid, don't be stupid, don't be stupid…" she muttered, focusing on the placement of her hands. The branches were thinning, but there was still a ways to go.

"Oh Valka," she began, chuckling weakly. "What have you gotten yourself into now?" She inched up. "Halfway up the tallest tree with an arrow you're not sure you can ever shoot…not sure if your dad is even on his way…but hey, could be worse right? You could be talking to yourself."

She giggled in a singsong voice, "Oh Vally you're delirious."

Grunting with effort, Valka broke through the tree line of the surrounding forest. The view was intoxicatingly beautiful: the wind felt so crisp it made her eyes water…but it was still not high enough.

"Come on girl," she grit her teeth. "One of your bright ideas has to work tonight."

 _SNAP_! A branch had splintered in her hand.

"Oh gods oh gods oh gods oh gods!" Valka gasped, throwing herself against the trunk until her body steadied. She had tried sarcasm, she had tried encouragement…but she had not tried pleading.

"Odin, if you're listening, if you help me," she went up another branch, "I swear I'll do whatever you need me to do. I'll take the damned cooking lessons, I'll dress like a girl, I'll even dance with Stoick…I just want to get out of this tree alive-"

Air.

Valka gripped air.

There was nowhere left for her to go; she had reached the top.

Stunned, Valka moved quickly. The slightest breeze sent the treetop into a frenzy. She glanced north, then west, then south…until her eyes landed on the east.

Valka had never smiled so widely before in her life.

With trembling fingers, Valka wrapped herself around the thin trunk, and knocked an arrow. She grabbed the flint from her pocket. The cloths on the arrows had been doused in oil, and though it took a few strikes, the cloth lit.

"Okay, okay, okay…" she muttered, exhaling sharply. The fire spread rapidly, blinding in the darkness. She had hoped that the light would be enough for her fellow villagers, but she knew that there was one final step.

With all the strength her fingers could muster, Valka launched the arrow straight towards the sky.

* * *

"What is that?" Spitelout whispered in wonder. He had been the first to spot the light rising up into the sky, but his transfixed gaze had alerted the others to its presence. Stoick stomped toward the bow of the ship, narrowing his eyes at the sight. He could not explain why, but the sight of the light felt reassuring, like a beacon welcoming him home.

* * *

"Please tell me you saw that," Valka clung to the tree, having nearly sent herself backwards from the launch. She had dropped the bow, but that was unimportant now. She had done her part: her father was bringing the others home.

The time came for her to climb down, a feat easier for her muscles but harder for her mind. Each step felt precarious, her fingers felt practically numb. She started to count her steps down, but that proved to be too much on her mind. Instead, she began to sing.

" _Yaks milk, fresh eggs, bacon on the sidddde; nothing beats breakfast, when it's cold outsidddde…_ " she chuckled at the childhood song her mother would sing to her as she would descend the stairs in the morning. She was nearly halfway down, and though her nerves were racing, her mind was at least preoccupied.

" _Oh my wife is a riot, never is she quiet, we always have a fight when I come home late at night!"_ That one was a jaunty song Spite had taught her; her father had not been too pleased when he heard little Valka skipping and singing that one, considering it was a drinking song.

Her father's song was her favorite. For the longest time, Valka only knew the tune, for Smitelout would only whistle it. It was only when Valka was older and sleepless, that she had heard her father and mother dancing downstairs. Curious, Valka had peeked.

 _"And love me for eternity…"_

 _"Smite,"_ Ursula had said, _"Is this_ really _our song?"_

 _"Of course it is…I wrote it just for you."_

 _"Sometimes I forget-"_

 _"Thorgrimma hated music; the only time I got her to dance was when I won a dance with her. I had almost forgotten how to dance until I met you."_

Ursula had hummed at that.

Valka sighed, stealing a brief glance down: one more song and she'd be on solid ground.

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne'er a fear of drowning..._ "

She stepped down onto another branch; her singing had muted the crack.

" _And gladly ride the waves of life, if you would mar-"_

The branch fell out from beneath her, and sent Valka plummeting towards the ground. She didn't even have time to scream before her world went black.


	11. The Aftermath

**I had a day off from work, so voila! Not too long of a wait for the next chapter right? :)**

* * *

"Chief?"

Stoick's heavy eyes fluttered open. His cheek felt like fire, his hand like ice. It took him a moment to regain a sense of his surroundings: dark room, herbs drying from the rafters, numerous tapestries decorating the walls.

Gothi's.

Exhaling a yawn, Stoick turned towards the doorway. Gobber, weary and scarred, leaned against the doorframe. His usual peg leg had been damaged, so now he limped around on a replacement, without the use of a cane. Stoick had scolded him, calling him a plethora of names for his stupidity, but Gobber had stubbornly insisted that he was fine.

" _It's not the worst pain right now,_ " he had told him days ago. Gods, _days_ ago.

"What is it Gobber?"

"They, er, they need you down at the hall, to distribute the day's duties."

"Just have them carry on from yesterday."

"Well yeah okay…just thought maybe you'd want to…y'know, oversee things a bit."

"I trust your judgement."

The door shut with a squeak, followed by the thumping of Gobber's limp approaching. He placed a heavy hand on the chief's shoulder.

"Y'know I hate stating the obvious-"

"I really doubt that Gobber."

"Okay well, everyone's wondering where you've been. There's only so many lies I can tell."

Stoick yawned again, the intensity of which brought tears to his eyes.

"I'll be down as soon as she wakes up."

"Stoick…"

Both of them looked down at the peaceful figure on the cot. A white sheet covered her up to her neck; her hair had been freed from its braid and fanned out against the pillow. No wrinkles or lines marked her face, not even the crease that formed between her eyebrows whenever she frowned or pouted. It was as if she had been carved to remain timeless.

"Why do you care so much?" Gobber asked stiffly. "She's the village oddball."

"A chief cares about all of his people," Stoick replied.

"Uhhuh, sure."

"Gobber…" Stoick glared at his friend, but sighed. "Oddball or not, she saved this village, not once but twice. I think I—I mean _we_ owe it to her for someone to be here when she wakes."

"So let her brother handle that."

"I need Spitelout busy; consider it a test." He eyed Gobber. "Tell the others that my wound hasn't healed, or that I've come down with a fever, that Gothi is holding me here against my will."

"Whatever you say chief," Gobber muttered, patting his friend on the back once more. "The Meatheads are sailing out this afternoon, what are you going to do about those girls?"

"I'll handle it."

"While you're in here recovering?"

Stoick rolled his eyes. "I said I'll handle it Gobber."

The blacksmith exited without another word. Stoick sighed in relief, the tension in his neck disappearing. He knew he was needed elsewhere, he knew that he had other responsibilities to tend to…but one glance at the girl laying before him battered and broken and Stoick lost the ability to leave. He had to be here when she woke, gods only knew why, but he just had to.

* * *

Valka was falling, hurling towards the ground faster than she ever thought possible. Breath escaped her, her life flashed before her eyes, from her very first memories until just seconds ago when she was singing—

"-RRY ME!"

Her back straightened, locked into place as she shot up into a blinding light. An intense pain pulsated through her body, centralizing around her arm. She was drenched in a cold sweat, though her body felt as though it was caught in an inferno. Heart racing, she gasped for air, feeling as though she could never get enough.

 _Alive!_ She could have screamed. _I'm alive!_

"Valka?"

Her vision began to focus. Sitting next to her, on a little stool, was Stoick.

 _And I'm dead…_

"Chief?"

The wind was knocked out of her by his burly arms. What Valka believed was a death grip turned out to be a surprisingly genuine attempt at a hug.

"Oh thank Thor-"

"Air…"

"What?"

" _AIR_!"

Stoick released his arms. Valka coughed painfully, which sent another wave of pulsating pain.

"Easy now," Stoick touched her shoulder. "You have a broken arm and some cracked ribs."

"You don't say," she wheezed. Glancing around, her surroundings were familiar. "Gothi's?"

"Aye. Brought you here as soon as we found you." His brows furrowed. "I don't want to alarm you, but you've been out for three days."

"Three days?!"

"Shh…"

"Don't tell me to 'shh!'" She shrugged off Stoick's hand. "What happened? Where is everyone? Is my mom-"

"Relax Valka, I'm still Chief of Berk…it is still standing- in several pieces- but still standing."

Valka could have cried had she not been so thirsty. Stoick, his eyes widening, reached for a cup on a little bedside table. "Slow sips," he instructed.

Water had never tasted so sweet. She finished her cup and searched for more.

Stoick rose. "I'll get you some more. Stay still."

Valka had no difficulty obeying. Now that her ailments had become known, the pain concentrated in those areas. Sure enough, her arm was wrapped in a sling kept close to her chest. Through the fabric of her nightgown, Valka could feel the bandages packed against her torso. She tentatively poked at them, wincing at the throbbing.

"I would avoid doing that if I were you," Stoick said upon returning. He had in his hands a cup and an entire pitcher of what Valka could only assume was water. He poured her another cup, which she hastily downed. To her great dismay, she was cursed with the hiccups.

"Sorry," she squeaked, grimacing at the jolts of pain with every hiccup.

"I would say hold your breath but…" he gestured to her sheepishly.

"Got it."

Three cups in, Valka had had her fill. She nestled down against the pillow, weak from sitting up.

"You made it," she breathed.

"I wouldn't have missed it for anything," he grinned, but the smile did not reach his eyes. Valka noticed his melancholy, and knew what must have been plaguing him.

"How many?"

"Fifty of ours at least, we still have some unaccounted. Thanks to you all of the unarmed made it through with nothing more than scrapes and cuts."

Valka brightened. "My mom?"

"She's been keeping watch over you, when she's not needed elsewhere. I sent a messenger to the hall to fetch her and your brother. They'll be here shortly no doubt."

"What about my father?" The word caught in her throat as she noticed Stoick wince.

"He confessed to everything," Stoick murmured, his eyes fell on the floor.

Valka felt her blood run cold. "Where is he?"

"It's not my place-"

" ** _WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM!?_** "

She threw herself towards Stoick, her good fist colliding with his chest. The tears she could not weep earlier came out in torrents as she pounded against Stoick's chest. The chief did not respond, he only wrapped his arms around her to still her wrath. Valka surrendered herself, out of exhaustion and out of misery; she allowed herself to be held by her father's executioner, someone she thought she could trust. Crying hurt, but the pain in her ribs was nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

"Valka?"

"Oh my darling…"

Two new voices brought Valka out of her stupor. Peeking through a mix of hair and skin, Valka saw Spitelout and Ursula, standing timidly in the doorway. She wanted to run to them, to free herself from Stoick's grasp, but every one hesitated to move, or even to speak.

"Did you…" Ursula sniffed, "did you tell her?"

Stoick's beard rustled against the top of Valka's head.

"No, it's not my place."

Spitelout nodded, though even Valka could see his bottom lip quiver: "I…I can't…"

Ursula, tiny as she was, embraced her stepson. Spitelout was weeping without reservation, something Valka had never seen before. Her mother's gray eyes were gentle yet glassy as she looked up.

"Please Chief…" her lips parted in a whisper.

Gingerly, Stoick's thumb brought up Valka's chin so that their eyes met. He held her gaze.

"Your father perished in battle, Valka."

Valka shook her head, "N-no…"

"He fought valiantly; he charged after Mercer with more bravery than I've ever seen in a man. Tyr come to life." Though Valka tried to turn away, Stoick kept her still. "It was a duel for the ages, Valka. Mercer wounded your father, but Smitelout continued to fight until the Valkyries called him." He gestured towards Spitelout: "It was your brother who finished the job. The Blood Moon's crumpled after Mercer was gone."

Valka nodded, but her throat clenched in agony. She tried to speak, but all she could manage was:

"Da-"

"Go ahead and cry; beat me all you want." Stoick held her back against his chest, his broad hands ran down her hair in long strokes. Valka would have recoiled, but the comfort it brought her overshadowed any embarrassment it caused. She gasped out ugly, miserable sobs, drenching Stoick's tunic. Eventually, she felt the familiar hands of her mother sweep around her, could sense Spitelout's shadow hovering over her. Her fingers dug into Stoick like talons, but the man made no sound of distress.

"When your father came to Meathead Island," the chief began in a voice almost inaudible, "I held a private audience with him…Spitelout was the only one allowed in. I told the others…and the Meatheads that a scout had been caught on Berk, and that we needed to return. Your father was bound, but we played it off as desperation. Spitelout and I are the only ones who knew…who still know."

Valka glanced up. Through her blurred vision, she could see that the chief was smiling.

"As far as anyone else knows, Smitelout's secret passed with him. To Berk, he is and will forever remain, a hero."

No one spoke. The only perceptible sounds were those of weeping.

Eventually, as the seconds slipped into minutes, Stoick cleared his throat.

"I should…I should see to the village, leave you to…to grieve."

Valka found that she could not let go of the chief. Her exhausted grip had to be pulled away by Stoick himself, though his touch was gentle. He squeezed her hand just slightly, before passing it over to her mother. Valka shifted, collapsing against her mother's chest, but her eyes followed Stoick as he bowed to the family.

"Chief, wait-" Spitelout stood abruptly. "I'll come with you."

"Spitelout-"

"No, I just…" Spitelout glanced down at Valka briefly. "I need to work."

Stoick nodded hesitantly, but said nothing more. The two men walked out of the room together, though Stoick was the only one who took a moment to look back.

Ursula respired a quivering breath. "Oh Vally…"

"Mum, I'm fine…I'm f-f-f-" she sputtered, nestling against her mother in a new wave of sobs.

"I'm so proud of you Valka…and I know daddy is too. Odina told me all about your efforts, how you were the one who shot the arrow-"

"It was a stupid plan-"

"But it kept everyone's spirits up long enough for Stoick and the men to return. Stoick even said it was a beacon to them out on the water."

"Why was he even here?" Valka hissed. "Just to tell me about daddy? To tell me his decision?"

"Valka," her mother held her at arm's length, her gray eyes stern yet bizarrely hopeful. "Stoick hasn't left your side for the past three days."

Valka blinked; her icy blood ran hot. "What?"

"He's sat right there for three days, ever since he brought you into Gothi's. I don't think he's eaten; sometimes I would find him sound asleep. I'm surprised his snores didn't wake you earlier. Gobber's been telling everyone he was injured, but your brother and I knew the truth. Sometimes I would sit with him, he always refused to leave. I think-"

"Damn it!" Valka groaned.

"Valka!" Her mother scolded.

"Sorry mum," she buried her face into her mother's shoulder. "I just realized I owed him a stupid dance."


	12. Confessions

"I think that Fisk is going to propose soon," Solfrid whispered, despite the fact that their sewing group was completely alone. Across from her, Lundy squealed, dropping her needlework to the floor, her hands flying up to her lips. Hilly, Solfrid's best friend, grinned broadly; she had obviously already been made privy to the details.

Phlegma and Odina stared at each other and rolled their eyes, continuing on with their knitting.

"What makes you so sure?" Phlegma asked in her gruff way. "It's not like dad is around-"

"I saw him talking to Stoick!"

"Uh…" Odina stared at Solfrid as if she had two heads. "Fisk is part of Stoick's inner circle…"

"I am also his ward, so he is in every sense my father-"

"HA!" Hilly cackled. "He's like twelve years older than you-"

"Oh shut it Hilly," Solfrid blushed. "You know what I mean. Besides, he's yours too, and Phlegma's, so if the two of you ever have suitors-"

"Not likely," Phlegma scoffed.

"Okay then, if _Hilly_ ever manages to convince Buffnut Thorston to come around…"

"Who's to say I haven't?" The slender blonde stuck out her tongue mischievously.

"We live in the same house! Don't you think I would have heard-?"

"Might have not been in our house…might have not been in a house at all-"

"HILLY!" Solfrid waved her hand in front of her face, her cheeks scarlet.

Valka, having taken a moment to listen in, returned to her sewing. It was the one domestic task she seemed able to handle. Her stitches were straight and evenly spaced, though her designs were simple compared to the other's. Right now, she was working on an apron for her mother, a gift for her birthday. At the hem, she was stitching her father's name in runes. Every night before she went to bed, Valka would take out the project from its hiding place in her bedroom, and kiss the stitches.

"Goodnight daddy," she would whisper, holding the apron to her chest.

"Er, Valka?" Lundy called.

Valka froze: her lips were on the fabric.

"Oh! Sorry, you were saying?"

Odina snickered. "Who are you thinking about over there Valka? Should we tell Spitelout to expect a visitor?"

"Oh leave her alone," Solfrid tutted. She held up a nightgown she had just finished adding embellishments to: "Ta-da! For my bridal trunk!"

"Wistful thinking there Sol," Hilly chuckled. Valka shook her head; though she enjoyed sewing, she wished that she could do it in the comfort of her own solitude. Ursula had insisted that she socialize more with the other young women on Berk. Now that Solfrid, Hilly, and Phlegma were here she supposed the topics weren't as one sided…but still she felt ostracized, an outcast.

"Okay well, why would Fisk speak to Stoick _alone,_ without anyone else around?"

"But he wasn't alone, you were there, weren't you?" said Phlegma.

"Oh that hardly matters, I was in the kitchens."

"Did he know you were there?" Lundy asked.

"Well…yes…we came together…"

The girls, sans Valka, groaned. During their debate about Fisk's intentions, and the legitimacy of Solfrid's claim, Valka stood and walked over to the window. Solfrid, Hilly, and Phlegma's cottage had been their designated meeting spot for the past several months. While it was cramped, Valka enjoyed the view from the large window: it overlooked the village center at such an angle that you could see in between the houses, and out to the sea. The sun was setting, making the sky a brilliant shade of indigo, streaked with pink. She exhaled, enchanted.

"Hey, daydreamer!" Hilly called, breaking Valka's reverie.

"Sorry," Valka muttered. "Just checking the sun…I should get going."

"Do you want me to walk with you?" Lundy crouched up, expecting a request.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you though."

Lundy smiled, though to Valka she looked relieved. "I'll see you in the morning though, right? After breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure…I'll be there."

Valka waved a halfhearted goodbye to everyone else before slipping out the door. Truthfully, Valka was not looking forward to Lundy's company, for the girl had recruited Valka's assistance in designing her wedding dress.

"But you can draw!" Lundy had pointed out in her pleading. "It would mean so much to me!"

Stupid Valka had accepted…of course she hadn't expected Lundy to change her mind every two days about the cut of the neck or the embroidery she wanted on her train.

"I'm going to be the wife of the chief's general. I have to look my best!" Was her continuing excuse. Valka and Ursula had shared several annoyed glances behind Lundy's back. Though the girl had been nothing but helpful since Smitelout's death…her wedding was becoming the bane of everyone's existence.

Valka marched up the hill towards home. Even over a year after the battle, she had to force herself to walk in a different direction from where their house had been. Sixteen years in one place only to be suddenly uprooted to another? It was as if she was constantly sea sick. The land where her house had been remained empty, the dirt still bare from where the foundations had been. Fortunately for Berk, the dragon attacks had been few and far in between, otherwise the reconstruction effort would have taken even longer.

Valka stared at her house—well technically her _brother_ ' _s_ house. As second in command, Spitelout had the second nicest house, on the second highest plot of land in the village. Up further on the ridge, overlooking the village and the sea, Stoick's house sat dark and empty. No doubt the chief was at supper.

"Mum?" she called as she knocked. It was a habit she had formed in the new house. Typically, her mother was in Mead Hall at this hour, doing her share to earn her keep. Valka never expected a response.

Tonight, however, was different.

"Vally? You're home early."

Valka pushed the door inward, and froze where she stood.

Her mother was not alone: Stoick the Vast sat at their table.

The chief's eyes widened; he had obviously been in the middle of chewing. His hand came up beside him, and he gave a limp wave.

Valka tapped the door shut with her boot. "Where's um, where's Spite?"

"He went fishing with Fisk and the other boys, said something about 'catching haddock,'"

Stoick sputtered into his mug, resulting in a coughing attack.

"Oh, are you alright Chief?" Ursula fussed.

"Fine, f-fine," he exhaled, catching his breath. "Just fine."

"Okay…" Valka tried to hide her sewing project behind her, sidestepping her way to the stairs. "Well…I'm going to go…put my sewing away…"

"Would you like to join us Valka? I made stew-"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Not even for a biscuit?"

Valka, who was halfway up the stairs, widened her eyes at her mother: " _Mum_!"

"Alright then, no biscuit for Valka…" Ursula practically sang, making a grand show of wrapping the last of the biscuits up in a cloth. Valka groaned and slumped down the steps. She glared at her mother the entire way, before snatching the biscuit out of Ursula's hand and popping it into her mouth.

Her feet could not move fast enough. Dashing up the stairs, she shut the door to her room and exhaled.

 _What is Stoick doing here?_ She wondered. Most nights the chief ate at Mead Hall, though she supposed her mother could have invited him for supper.

"But why wouldn't she tell me?" Valka asked the emptiness of her room. With a sigh, Valka stuffed her sewing beneath the mattress of her bed before changing. She slipped off her long skirt to reveal leggings and exchanged her blouse for a long green tunic. She took a belt and buckled it at her slim waist before pulling on a fur vest. Summer had started slipping into autumn, and though the days remained warm, the nights were chilled.

* * *

Valka could not slip by undetected.

"Vally, Stoick was just telling me some great news." Ursula's voice made Valka wince. "Go on Chief, oh Valka you'll love this."

Stoick, his eyes calm and, well, stoic, spoke.

"I've commissioned a portrait of your father to hang in Mead Hall."

"My father?" Valka was confused. "I thought only chiefs-"

"Well I've made an exception." Stoick beamed. "After all, his quick thinking helped save Berk."

Valka glanced at her mother, who swept at her teary eye with a finger.

"That's…that's great. Thanks Chief."

She made her way towards the door, only to be stopped by her mother.

"Valka, it's getting late. Where are you going?"

"Just for a walk mum. My legs are stiff from sitting in sewing circle. I need the exercise."

"You shouldn't be out there alone. What if there's a dragon attack?"

"Then I'll duck into somebody's house like I always do?" Valka could not understand why her mother was being so obtuse.

"I um," Stoick cleared his throat. "I'm heading back to the Hall. I could walk you some of the way?"

Valka's gaze shifted back and forth between Ursula and Stoick; they stared right back.

"Fine, since everyone is _so_ worried about me…"

She slipped out the door, not bothering to wait for the chief. He came running down the hill behind her, nearly stumbling. She glanced over her shoulder, watching him regain his footing, and smirked. "Walk much?"

Stoick muttered something under his breath, before falling into silence. It was a bizarre feeling, having the Chief of Berk walk behind you. A man who leads following behind a denizen? It was practically unheard of, but Stoick did not protest.

"Your mother is an excellent cook," he said.

"Yeah, she makes it look easy though."

"You can't cook?"

"Not a bit."

"Oh…"

Valka laughed. "This one time, I tried making fish for my dad and Spite…I had somehow managed to clean all of the edible bits off the fish, so they were eating nothing but pin bones!"

"Sounds…delicious?"

"Oh, not to mention I under cooked it…Spite was throwing up all night."

"You seem quite proud of that."

"Well of course I didn't _mean_ to make him sick! I was mortified actually…but hearing him whining like a baby seemed to make up for it." She kicked a stone with her boot, sending it skipping across the path. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stoick walking proudly, his back straight, his arms behind his back. He was smiling, but when he noticed Valka's gaze, he grew rigid.

"I guess I can't offer you a position in the kitchens then."

"Not unless you want everyone to die a horrible, agonizing death."

"Yeah I'd much rather avoid that…" he eyed her. "You know you need to find yourself a job."

"I know, I know…I've only heard it about twenty times."

Valka sent another stone flying. Between her mother and her brother, it was an almost weekly discussion. Spitelout was generous in letting them stay with him, but he was going to be a husband in the upcoming months. Apart from wanting to give the newlyweds privacy, Valka and Ursula had agreed that they did not want to share a roof with Lundy...

"Well, what would you _like_ to do? Gobber needs help-"

" _I don't trust you around sharp things,_ " Valka answered in a near perfect imitation of Gobber. Stoick's expression was a mixture of amusement and terror.

"It really freaks me out when you do that…so if Gobber's out, what then?"

"I don't know…I like the dragons-"

" _Like_ the _dragons_?" Stoick stopped suddenly, his brows furrowing.

Valka rolled her eyes. "Not like that; I meant like, I could feed them and stuff. Clean the pens…"

"They don't need to be fed that much, and their pens are fine."

"They might be dragons Stoick, but they're still living creatures."

"Devil spawn is more I like it."

Valka glared at him. She tossed her nose up in the air and stomped away.

"Hey! Valka, come on-"

She continued on, her lips pursed. This was not the first time they had had this conversation. Valka had to tell the chief about the dragons she had let loose, after all. He had been stunned that they didn't hurt her, but is Valka's rambling explanations, the chief had connected the pieces. Needless to say, Valka wasn't allowed anywhere near the ring when the new dragons were caught.

They passed by the steps leading up to Mead Hall. Valka glanced behind her expectantly, not bothering to say goodbye to Stoick…but the chief marched right past the stairs.

"I thought you had to get back?" She asked.

Stoick shrugged his shoulders. "I like the quiet. Do you mind if I stay with you?"

Valka considered it. "And what if I do mind?"

"Then just say the word."

They stared at one another, the chief and the girl. The stars had emerged from the blanket of darkness, the torches had been lit. The sea birds had gone to bed, and the only noise audible was the crashing of waves against the rocks. Valka suddenly got the sense that she was frightened.

Still, despite her reservations, she nodded her head in acceptance. Stoick gave a small smile, barely enough to be considered a smile, and led the way. Silent, Valka followed.

* * *

"I think this is my favorite spot on our island," Stoick declared. He had led them up the cliffs, above the walkway down to the docks. It was a precarious spot, but Valka could see why it was his favorite: the view of the placid, black ocean was incredible. Save for the waves breaking against a distant sea stack, Valka would have though the water was glass.

"When I was a boy, I would stand up here and watch the ships launch," he pointed down to where a fleet of ships were moored. "My dad would wave to me, and it always reassured me that he'd come home safe. Eventually, I was the one waving to him from the deck."

Valka blinked, uncertain of what to say. Stoick planted himself on the edge of the cliff, so that his feet dangled. She copied his motions, but kept her feet tucked beside her. He looked like a young boy, his eyes glistening in the starlight, the sea breeze ruffling his hair. She half expected him to raise his hand to some invisible ship unfurling its sails.

Instead, his hand fell to hers.

"What-"

He recoiled, his eyes wide. "Sorry."

"What was that?"

"I…" even in the darkness, Valka could see that the chief's cheeks were as red as his hair. "That was a really, _really_ stupid thing to do, wasn't it?"

Valka inched away, pressing herself up. "I think I'm going to head home-"

"Valka-no, wait!"

This time his hand grasped hers: they were incredibly warm against her skin. She froze.

"I'm sorry, just…" he looked up at her; the sensation of being taller than him was unfamiliar to Valka. "Don't leave, please?"

Valka sat, cross-legged this time, her hands folded in her lap. She wanted to stare at him, yet felt ashamed to even raise her eyes to him for one second.

"Gobber thinks I'm nuts-"

"He's one to talk."

Stoick gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah." He leaned back on his hands; his casual pose could not hide his tension.

"Maybe I am a little too…but I'd rather be nuts than go on lying to myself."

For being an eloquent man, Stoick had begun rambling.

"I mean…gods I don't think I've slept in…a week? Well, several months now. I mean, I _have_ slept; I'd probably be dead if I didn't…but it hasn't been restful, you know?"

"Uhhuh…" Valka nodded, her brows furrowing.

"Look, Valka I—what I'm trying to say is…gods what I'm trying to say is..." his hand ran through his hair, before he abruptly stood up. "Dance with me?"

"You're joking, right?"

"Not at all!" His voice was unnecessarily loud. "You owe me one. Come on Val-"

"Okay, first of all," Valka stood to meet him. "You're not making any sense at all. Second, I am _not_ dancing this close to a cliff…I like living thank you very much. And third, we don't have any music."

"We'll sing!"

"Nope, not happening." Valka stepped back. "I need _good_ music."

"Come on, what's your favorite song?"

"You wouldn't know it."

"Try me."

Valka frowned. "My _father's_ song that he wrote for my mother."

"Oh…okay, well that's…"

"Exactly. So no, Chief, I am not dancing with you right now. Besides, I need a witness for my debt."

"Gods you're so-"

"So what?" Valka's patience had waned. He was worrying her and irritating her all at the same time. "Go on, say it. What am I-"

Stoick did not speak. His lips were preoccupied with brushing gently against hers.

Valka felt her knees quiver; her stomach flipped in her abdomen.

She also felt her hand slap against Stoick's face.

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF ODIN'S EYE SOCKET DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?"

Stoick retreated, hands in the air. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!? YOU'RE THE CHIEF NOT THOR COME TO MIDGARD! I WOULDN'T EVEN KISS THOR IF HE SHOWED UP AT MY DOORSTEP! WHAT RIGHT DO YOU THINK-"

"Valka, Valka, _Valka_!" The usual fire in Stoick's voice returned. "I'm sorry alright?"

"YOU'RE GOING TO BE SORRY WHEN I TELL MY MOTHER-"

"I already told her that I love you!"

The venomous words fell dead on Valka's lips, poisoned by the sweetness of the kiss.

"W-what?"


	13. Reciprocating

Stoick inhaled, his chest expanding with more air than Valka thought possible.

"I said, I love you Valka."

So her ears weren't deceiving her then. Valka felt her wrath shrink up on itself, coiling up into a knot in her chest. She shook her head, her braid flapping in the breeze she stirred.

"You…you can't possibly-"

"But I do. I do Valka: I love you."

Stoick flopped down onto the ground in a heap. He propped his head up on his knee, and gazed out at the horizon. Valka shivered: the night had grown cold. The torches burned brightly off in the distance, the light stinging her eyes. She considered slipping away into the comfort of her warm home…but something kept her standing right there, behind Stoick.

"I'm not asking you to…to feel the same way," he began, his voice raspy and drained. "But I need to get these things off of my chest before I go mad. You don't have to say anything, you don't even have to look at me, but just…listen, _please_."

Valka found that she did not have a choice: she was frozen where she stood.

And so, Stoick began:

"You're annoying, and stubborn, and reckless, and you act before you think. The village is right: you are an oddball. You're as skinny as a twig and the furthest from domestic that I've ever seen-"

"Hey!"

" _But,_ " Stoick continued. "You are compassionate, dedicated, loyal and honest…I've met dozens of women across dozens of islands, but I have never met anyone like you Valka. You choose to fight with your words instead of your fists…well," he rubbed his cheek. " _Most_ of the time."

"I'm sorry…"

"No, don't apologize. I should have asked your permission before kissing you."

Valka finally decided to kneel down beside him. Her patience had returned, as had her curiosity.

"I don't understand Stoick. Why me? When?"

"Looking back I think it was around the time of the bidding. I hadn't planned on bidding on you, but the look on your face…gods Valka, I've never seen heartbreak like that before."

"I really wasn't trying to look that way…"

"But that's another thing," he smirked, "you're an open book. I like that about you. I would say it's a way to tell exactly what you're thinking or how you're feeling…but your mind is a wonderful cavern full of depth. I guess…I guess the bidding was sort of the spark that set things off, that planted the thought in my mind…but I would be lying if I said that you weren't my first thought when your father showed up on Meathead Island."

"I was?"

"Aye, you were," he bit his lip. "And you still are. You always are."

"Stoick…"

"I knew it was you who loosed that arrow, one because you're the only one that crazy enough to climb that high…but two, I felt it," he raised a hand to his chest, right over his heart. "Here. And when we couldn't find you once it was over, I was the one who knew where to look. I carried you to Gothi's, I sat with you for three days: the village was in shambles but I couldn't tear myself away."

He cleared his throat, exhaling a quick breath.

"I had thought that…maybe I would have moved on or forgotten. You had never showed any interest, and you needed time to grieve and to recover. But every night when I was forcing myself to sleep, you were the thought that came into my head. Despite having a thousand other things to worry about, it was your face that I saw."

They stared at one another. Valka felt her eyes well up yet she refused to cry. A part of her expected Gobber and the other men to pop out from the woods laughing hysterically, in on the joke.

Why her? Why?

"You could have someone better though-"

"No other girl on this island compares to you Valka Jorgenson; not even Freyja herself."

"Stoick…"

"Is it really that difficult to believe that I am in love with you?"

"Yes!" Now the tears sprang free. Valka felt like the greatest fool in Midgard. "You're the chief; you're brave and strong and I'm the furthest thing from that. You're ten years older than me, you deserve a woman, not a girl-"

"I think I know what I deserve Valka," he said coolly.

"Odina would be a better fit, or Phlegma-"

"But they're not the ones that haunt my dreams and keep me awake at night," his hand gripped hers, and again Valka felt her stomach flip. "Damn it Valka, I don't want anyone else! _You're_ the one I want near me, _you're_ the one I want holding my heart!"

"But _I_ don't deserve it!"

Valka shrank in on herself, her hands twisted in the loose hair of her scalp. Her breaths came in frantic gasps racked with whimpers. The chief stood before her, his gaze fastened to hers; despite every attempt to look away, Valka found that she couldn't.

" _I_ don't Stoick… _I_ don't…"

His palm, rough and weathered, cupped her chin. Valka never knew that hands could be that gentle. His thumb, calloused as it was, felt feathery soft as it swept beneath her eye to wipe the remnants of her tears. She shivered.

"I trust you with my heart," his voice was nearly lost in the gentle sea breeze. She had never heard Stoick speak that softly. " _Will you trust me with yours_?"

Somehow, even with her heart in her throat, Valka managed to whisper: "Yes."

This time, when his lips pressed against hers, she did not recoil.

How could a person's heart go on beating at a steady rhythm once it had been jolted by a force as powerful as love? How could a person live with the blandness of life once they had witnessed the glow of the heavens? Valka trembled in Stoick's arms, his hands now thoroughly engrossed in the long braids of her hair. She felt breathless, but so completely full of life she thought she would certainly perish once they broke away, her very essence drained. That moment, fortunately, did not come for several minutes.

"Gods," Stoick hissed when at last they parted. His lips were swollen and red, blending in with the fuzz of his short ginger beard. Somehow his hands had made their way towards her waist, skinny as a reed in his massive mitts. Valka did not worry; she felt unbreakable. "Valka: _my_ Valka."

"Yes," Valka nodded, for once not looking away. "Yours."

He moved to kiss her again. Valka squeaked.

"Stoick?"

His lips had already met hers as he murmured: "Hm?"

She ducked away to speak, "I was thinking-"

"Don't tell me you changed your mind already-"

"No! No, nothing like that. It's just, um…" she waved her hands, words failing her. "Could we, possibly, keep this to ourselves? At least for a little while?"

"Are you embarrassed of me?"

"What? Gods, no Stoick!"

 _Quite the opposite, actually._ She thought glumly. _You should be embarrassed of me_.

"It's just, brand new…and you know how the village can be."

He laughed, a full belly laugh.

"Trust me Val, I'm a twenty-seven year old bachelor. I _know_ how the village can be."

Valka smiled weakly. Never had she felt so vulnerable, yet so sure.

"So, can we be a secret? Can you do that for me?"

Stoick pulled her into his chest, his warm wonderful chest.

"For you, my dear, _anything_

* * *

 **TA-DA! The moment you've been waiting for-well, one of several.**

 **Just to clarify, Valka and Stoick are currently situated in the same place where Hiccup watched the ships set off to fight the Red Death. Like father like son huh?**

 **Thank you again for all of your kind reviews: I am enjoying every minute of writing this story, and your happiness makes it even better.**

 **To add, I am breaking away slightly from canon in the few upcoming chapters. I understand that in "Burning Midnight," Stoick and Valka danced to their song, but in my version...well...you'll see :)**


	14. Love Sick Fool

"You told her, didn't you?"

Stoick glanced up from his desk, startled to see Gobber standing over top of him. The blacksmith had not been there a minute ago. When had he arrived? Surely he would have heard the door…

"Twenty minutes," Gobber rolled his eyes. "I came in twenty minute ago with the plans for those bulwarks you wanted, but instead of being all 'evenin' Gobber,' it's been:" he pressed his good hand into his cheek, and made wide eyes up towards the rafters. He fluttered his eyelashes for an effect.

"I haven't been making doe eyes at the ceiling-"

"The red mark on your cheek speaks for itself, and the fact that this," he hoisted up Stoick's parchment, "is covered in scribbles. I'm surprised you weren't writing her name in little hearts."

Stoick snatched his paper away, crumpling it up.

"Alright I told her, so what?"

"Ugh," Gobber smacked his head with his hand. "So I told you it was a bad idea."

"When should I have told her?"

"You _shouldn't_ tell her _anything_ Stoick! You know what everyone says about her: she's the village oddball, the freak!"

"Watch it Gobber…" Stoick warned.

"I'm just repeating words." Gobber pulled over a stool with his peg leg, throwing himself into it. "You're the chief, you could have any girl this side of the archipelago but you pick her?"

"I didn't _pick_ her, Gobber." Stoick folded his hands beneath his chin. "I fell in love with her. There's a difference. Picking someone makes it sound like they're sheep or yaks. You pick with your mind, you love with your heart."

"Aaaaand she's turning you into a romantic, charming."

"Gobber…"

"Look, as your friend I'm concerned for you, for your reputation. Valka, er, she doesn't exactly strike fear into the hearts of men you know."

"You've never been on the other side of one of her glares."

"I tend to avoid affiliating with fre— _ah_ I mean, non-Viking-esque…Vikings."

"Have you ever seen her move?" Stoick asked, pushing himself up from his desk. His father used to chastise him for pacing, saying that it made a chief look scatterbrained and uncertain, but Stoick's mind was very much clear. "She's like a bird Gobber: a little flightless bird. And when she focuses on something—I mean _really_ focuses on something…she gets this little line here," he pointed to his forehead, right in between his brows. "Right here. It comes out when she's mad too, that's how you know she means business. And those eyes of hers… _gods_ , I never even knew that color existed."

"Do you want to tell me about your first kiss too? Or shall I just continue with my knitting?"

Stoick glared at him, his nostrils flaring…but then he laughed.

"Remember when we were boys and we spied on our mothers' sewing circle?"

"My ears felt dirty for a month after that experience…"

"But remember what they were talking about?"

"I would rather not relive what old Edwina Uphill said about her husband's-"

"No! No Gobber! About their marriages!" Stoick shuddered at the memory of white haired and toothless Edwina's words. "My father and mother were arranged to be married, as were yours."

"That's how things were done-"

"But not anymore, not always. Look around: Lundy and Smitelout, Odina and Aron, Solfrid and Fisk-"

"Did he ask you by the way?"

"For my blessing? He saw Solfrid eavesdropping so he couldn't ask specifically, but I gave it."

"So that's three weddings...are we going to have enough ale?"

"You're missing my point…or maybe just dodging it… but Gobber, our parents didn't have a choice in who they married. Their marriages may have been successful, but when it comes down to happiness they could have had _more_ ," he stilled. " _Valka_ makes me happy. Nothing else should matter then."

"What about children-"

"I only just told her I loved her-!"

"No Stoick, I mean…" Gobber stammered, his nose reddened. "Okay, Valka isn't built like Lundy or Solfrid…and she's not strong like Odina. If…you were to put a babe…in her belly…"

Stoick stared at him, his jaw slack.

"Are you really saying what I think you're saying?"

"Er…am I wrong though?"

"I only _just_ kissed her!"

"Okay okay!" Gobber threw up his hand and hook in surrender. "You love her, I get it."

"I want to marry her."

" _But you only just kissed her!_ "

"Not like, today or anything Gobber! Beard of Thor, how hasty do you think I am?" Stoick collapsed into his arm chair, frowning as he noticed the fire dying. "Do you think she'd say yes though?"

Gobber's hand smacked against his forehead. "Frigga help us."

* * *

Stoick was going to get himself killed.

He had been walking, enjoying the sunshine as he investigated the ships with Fisk and Aron, when a figure in blue caught his eye. Back on shore, Valka was parading through the shop stalls, a basket on her hip. The sunlight was hitting her hair just right that it was bringing out a multitude of previously unseen reds and blondes. She stopped abruptly, her posture stiffening, as if she could sense someone watching her. Stoick wanted to wave, wanted to call out to her, but he had promised her he would be clandestine.

Three weeks into their love affair, and so far he had managed to keep that promise.

So instead, Valka shrugged off the sensation and walked away, leaving Stoick staring.

"Hey Chief? Chief? _STOICK_!"

 _SPLASH!_

The ship Stoick had previously put one foot on before his enchantment had moved away from the dock. Stoick hadn't even noticed until he was bobbing up and down in the harbor with three pairs of eyes staring down at him.

"Er...lost my footing?" He grinned sheepishly.

After being fished out in a soaking heap, he had dismissed himself to change out of his wet clothes. Instead of heading home, he sought her out and found her in her family's kitchen garden.

"Hey Val," he greeted. Valka lifted her eyes, parted her lips to speak, only to erupt in laughter.

"What—what in Njord's name h-h-happened?"

Her cheeks, her beautiful delicate cheeks had turned pink from her giggles.

"I er…fell in the harbor?"

She grasped her stomach, doubling forward, her laughter refusing to let up. Stoick shivered, his body chilled.

"So I…er…yeah I'm going to go…change."

"W-wait! St-Stoick-k!" She wiped at her eye, flicking away a tear. Stoick paused. Valka, bending forward, tugged a blossom out of the soil: a tiny purple flower. Though her shoulders still quivered in amusement, Valka took the flower and tucked it behind his ear, having to stand up on her tiptoes to reach.

That put him at the perfect position to kiss her cheek. He did so, brisk and quick, barely touching her, but Valka froze.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I just, I had to do that."

She surprised him by brushing her lips against his in a chaste kiss.

"Just like I had to do that," she grinned slyly. With a basket of herbs in her hands, Valka gave him a wink and a wave. "See you later, Chief."

Stoick watched as she turned the corner, disappearing into the house. His fingers touched the soft blossom in his hair, though he did not think to remove it. He could scarcely think at all.

"Yeah," he murmured with a lopsided grin. "I'm doomed."

* * *

"UGH!" Valka stomped up to him, that amusing line etched between her eyebrows. Stoick opened his mouth to speak, but Valka slumped her forehead against the trunk of a tree. Stoick, sensing her agitation, put down his whetstone and rose to his feet.

"Lundy?"

"Lundy."

Stoick peeled her away from the tree. Her forehead collided against his chest, but she made no attempt to move. Her shoulders hung limply, and Stoick knew that if he were to step back she would fall.

"We're two weeks away, and ever since the Hofferson wedding she's been in _tears_ over _everything_!" Her hands flapped around nonsensically as she rambled. "I keep on reminding her that Odina is her best friend and that it's not a competition, but then she gets all 'but I'm marrying the Chief's general!'" Valka raised her voice in a shrill, spot on impersonation of Lundy. As always, her mimicking was both impressive and frightening.

"I want to tell her: Lundy, you're marrying Spitelout. Do you really think he's going to even notice what you have on? This morning it was that her bridal crown wasn't big enough. Mum and I were just like, really? It's a family heirloom of hers that's over a hundred of years old and she's complaining that it's not big enough?"

"Well, Odina will be back from her honeymoon soon: Lundy can complain to her then."

"It's never ending with her. Honestly, she makes it seem like she's marrying _you_."

Stoick felt his heart gallop in his chest.

"Sadly I don't get that honor."

Valka trembled against him: she was chuckling.

"Nope, for some strange reason she fell for my brother."

"Lucky her," Stoick tilted her chin up. "Come on. Practice time."

"Can't I just lay here?" Valka huffed, gesturing to the leafy blanket of the forest. Before he could stop her, the girl threw herself onto the ground into a mixture of dead leaves and pine needles. Her thick hair, in its usual braid, was effectively coated in the mess. "Ahh…" she exhaled.

Stoick shook his head, whispering a chuckle. For two months he had been hers and she his. Time flew by, and it always seemed that there would never be enough of it. Some days he would get lost simply staring at her, losing track of time. No longer how long her stared though, every time he glanced at her it was as if he was seeing the sun for the first time. Every vision was brand new.

He shrugged his shoulders and settled down beside her. The trees stretched on for what felt like miles above them, leaving just a piece of blue sky. There was only a smattering of clouds, thin and high.

Valka breathed deeply, her tiny waist looking as though it was about to vanish into the earth.

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to be a dragon?" She asked with close eyes.

"What?"

"No, not like the attacks and everything. I meant with flying, what it would be like to fly."

"Oh," Stoick relaxed slightly. Dragons were a precarious topic between the two of them. "No."

"It seems like it would be the most incredible thing…dragons are lucky like that."

"Probably the only thing worth envying."

"I'm sure there's more-"

"Val," Stoick warned.

"Alright, alright." She muttered; Stoick could hear the annoyance in her voice. He waited until her breathing steadied before speaking.

"Have you and your mother decided what to do?"

Valka had swept her braid over her shoulder and worked to de-leaf the tresses.

"No, but we still have two weeks."

"That's not a lot of time."

She sighed. "I know."

"Solfrid offered up her cabin with the girls-"

"It's cramp enough already in there. Phlegma hates me, Hilly can't keep her opinions to herself…Solfrid's okay, I guess…"

Stoick hummed. "She kissed me _one time_ Val."

"One time too many."

"You're getting possessive."

"Unfortunately you make me that way."

They smiled at one another. Somewhere in the mess of leaves, Stoick's hand found hers.

"Mum might be okay staying there, but I think I would lose my mind."

Her fingers traced his knuckles. He loved how delicate and long her digits were.

"So where would you go?"

"I'm comfy right here."

"So you would be a feral lady living in the woods?"

"Precisely!"

Stoick brought her hand up to his lips for a kiss. "I don't think so my dear."

"I used to have a fort out here when I was a little girl. I don't even know if I could find it now." She removed her hand from his grasp and laid both on her chest, right above her heart. "It was my escape from the village, from the whispers and the stares. I sort of can't escape them now."

"They only stare because you're so beautiful."

"No, they stare for the same reason they've always stared: I'm different."

"I like different."

"For some reason…"

Stoick sat up. The ridges of his knuckles brushed against her cheek. "For _many_ reasons."

He would never tire of the little shiver she gave whenever he whispered to her.

Before his lips could bridge the gap to get to hers, their moment of reverie was interrupted by a cold, merciless voice:

" _What the Hel are you doing with my sister_?"


	15. Conversations

Valka sat on the edge of her bed, knees curled up into her chest. Her chin was tucked into the gap between her knees, sinking lower and lower as the effort to hold her spine became too much. Ursula sat beside her, hands folded delicately in her lap; she hadn't had the time to wash the flour off of her hands from preparing a pastry. The only outlier in Valka's tiny bedroom was Lundy. The girl stood with an ear pressed to the door, listening in on the heated whispers from below.

"They're quiet right now," she said, her eyes glancing back towards the pair of them.

Half an hour ago, Spitelout had discovered the chief with his sister in the woods. Valka could see why their situation looked compromising, with Stoick leaning over a horizontal Valka to kiss her, but that had not been enough to calm Spite. He had dragged Valka off, no amount of fighting on her part could remove his grip. Valka still had red stripes going around her wrist, still had a stinging ache. Stoick had followed, of course he had; he was not surrendering to Spitelout. The yelling had persisted until they reached the outskirts of the village, and people had started to stare.

"Stoick, _please_!" Valka had begged, unable to wipe the tears away.

He had listened, but Spitelout had not. His voice had rang across the village, drawing an audience.

"SPITELOUT STOP!" Valka had cried. When they had reached their house, Ursula and Lundy had stepped outside to investigate. Ursula's hands had come up to her mouth in shock, but Lundy had simply stared.

"Spite…what's going-"

"Get her to her room," he had hissed, practically throwing Valka over the threshold. His eyes were venomous, practically black as he turned back to the chief. " _You stay away from her,_ " he spat. "Stay away!"

"No! Stoick!"

The chief had tried to enter the house, his hands reaching around the Jorgenson patriarch.

"Spitelout!"

It was Lundy who had raised her voice, seizing Spitelout's attention. Though her eyes were wide in confusion and fear, her smile had remained on her face as she softly, sweetly began:

"The chief visiting our house is an honor…surely you should invite him inside?" She had not given Spitelout the chance to answer, "Would you like anything to eat Chief? Ursula and I were just cleaning berries to make into a pie."

Stoick took his opportunity to enter the house, much to Spitelout's chagrin.

"No, thank you Lundy." Beats of sweat had coated his forehead. He had looked at Valka and given her a weak smile. "Val…"

"She goes upstairs," Spitelout had growled. "All of you, upstairs."

"Spite-"

" _NOW!_ "

And so they were, the three women of the Jorgenson clan. Ursula with her powdery hands, Lundy with her listening ears, and Valka with her eyes full of tears and her heart crumpling like stale paper.

* * *

Stoick collapsed into the plush armchair, his calloused fingers pressing against his eyes. Their argument had been heated, nearly violent as Spitelout paced near the cooktop where there was a plethora of dangerous utensils. Stoick kept glancing towards the stairs where, minutes earlier, Valka had been escorted in shame. Gods, Stoick could feel his heart breaking and re-breaking every time he recalled her face in that moment. Those saucer eyes of hers so wide and glassy, her thin lips quivering, and her body bent as if it had been shattered. He never _ever_ wanted to see that expression on her again.

Though now, he might not have a choice.

"Spitelout, you're a good man and an excellent general…I know I should have asked your permission-"

"Yeah you should have." Spitelout glanced up from where he sat, his hands pressed against his forehead. "How long then? A week? Two weeks?"

"Two months."

His nostrils flared.

"All this behind my back?"

"Valka didn't want anyone to know-"

" _Ursula_ knew-"

"Ursula is her mother-"

"Aye, _her_ mother, not mine."

They stared at one another, Spitelout's eyes narrowed into a glare.

"You've never had a problem calling her your mother before."

"That was before I found out that my sister is a bastard! You might have been able to forgive my father that easily, but _you're_ not the one left to pick up all the bloody pieces! You're not the one that has to deal with your father's shame!"

Stoick slammed his fist against the arm of his chair. "That's enough!"

He heard a meek yelp coming from upstairs and lowered his voice to a growl.

"Your sister is an innocent in all of that. She did not ask to be born into that situation. Your father and Ursula did right by her and by you and made their love legally binding. No one outside of this house is aware of their origins, and the threat has been eliminated."

"I was _there_ ," Spitelout spat. "I know the threat is eliminated: I killed him."

"So why punish Valka for the past?"

"I'm not punishing Valka, I'm trying to protect her from making the same mistakes!"

The two men stared at one another, blue eyes meeting green. Stoick could see the tension in Spitelout's shoulders vanishing, only to be replaced with sadness and worry.

"I don't want her to get hurt or to get into…unfortunate situations." His eyes hardened. "I love my sister, and I don't want her to become some trollop-"

"You think _that's_ what this is?" Stoick quirked an eyebrow.

"Well, why else would you be with her?"

"Because I _love_ her?"

This time it was Spitelout's turn for confusion.

"You do?"

"More than anything."

The man across from him frowned; the same crease between the brows appeared on his face.

"Why?"

"Gods above," Stoick chuckled in an attempt to control his temper. "Why does everyone question me? You, Gobber, even Valka herself. The only one who didn't was Ursula!"

"But it doesn't make any sense Chief! I love my sister, but she's so…so…"

"Odd? Weird? Bizarre? A _freak_?"

"I-"

"Go on, out with it. I've heard it all by this point, and I'm sure when we announce it to the village I'll hear it all again." He leaned forward in his seat, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper. "But let me tell you something Spitelout Jorgenson: none of that matters to me. I love that woman and…" he smiled, "I am going to marry her."

* * *

Lundy had wedged herself between Valka and Ursula, having jumped away from the door at the roar of Stoick's voice. She had not attempted to listen in on their conversation since, but instead had deconstructed Valka's braid and brushed out the long auburn locks. Valka did not have the energy to protest.

"How long?" Lundy asked in a whisper.

"Two months," Ursula answered for Valka. "He came to me two months ago for permission."

"But not Spite's?"

"I didn't want anyone to know," Valka confessed. "I…I didn't want him to be laughed at."

"Anyone who laughs at Stoick is a dead man."

"But he picked-"

"He picked _you_ , Valka." Ursula said firmly. "You have such doubt in yourself Vally: remember what your father said? 'You might feel like a flightless bird, but you've got dragon wings on you.' He picked you, and no one told him to. He came to me; I did not go to him. He finds you worthy of his love, and why shouldn't he? Why settle for a bird when he could have a dragon?"

"Metaphorically speaking I hope…" Lundy murmured.

"My point is," Ursula glared at her future daughter-in-law. "He loves you on his own accord, and I can see in your eyes how much you love him. No one else's opinion matters except for yours and his."

"Exactly!" Lundy squeaked excitedly. "I mean I'm super happy for you, but anyone else can go visit Hel. Think about it: my little sister is going to become the wife of the chief! Mrs. Haddock!"

"What?" Valka could feel her cheeks flare. "Lundy, no, we're nowhere near that."

"Oh come on, don't tell me you haven't talked about it?"

"Er…no, we haven't."

* * *

"Er…no, we haven't." Stoick mumbled at Spitelout's question. No, he and Valka had not discussed the possibility of marriage. Heading into their courtship, Stoick had anticipated taking things slow. He had not expected himself to fall completely head over heels in love…no, he had fallen flat on his face in love.

"So how do you know if she'll say yes?"

"I don't, but I'm hoping she will."

"And what if I say no?"

"Spitelout…"

"Obviously you're the chief and you can pick any girl you want…" he chuckled to himself. "I had a feeling that's why you came here that night, the night I'm guessing you told her. I told mum I was going fishing with the boys for haddock-"

"Yes she…said that to Valka."

"But I thought there's no way Valka will accept you; she's too stubborn. And then when nothing happened afterwards, when nothing went public, I didn't question it. I figured Valka told you no and that was that…guess I was wrong."

"You didn't have a reason to believe otherwise, we were quiet."

"You asked Ursula but you didn't ask me," Spitelout glared. "And you still haven't asked. There's all that nonsense about a _murder-_ "

"Mundr-"

"Whatever."

"Spitelout you _know_ I can provide for her, better than any other man on this island."

"She doesn't have a dowry you know: she had a few things but they were all lost in the attack."

"That doesn't bother me."

"She can't cook."

"We'll eat at the Hall."

"She doesn't want to kill dragons."

"I know."

"She doesn't want _anyone_ to kill the dragons…not even you."

Stoick paused and unleashed a tight sigh. "I know."

"Realistically she is probably the _least_ desirable girl on this island…a skinny undomesticated pacifist without a dowry-"

"And an ass for a brother?"

They stared at one another before bursting out in laughter.

"Alright, alright," Spitelout said between chuckles. "If you want to put up with her, she's yours."

"Believe me I do."

"I expect many drunken nights at the Hall, Chief, as we discuss our women problems."

"Maybe you Spite, but not me," he held his hand out for a shake. "I'll be home with my wife."

* * *

"Lundy, he hasn't asked me, and I don't think he's going to…and don't you have your own wedding to worry about?"

"Oh but that's so soon, everything's settled there isn't it? But what about _yours_?"

Valka wanted to ram her head into the wall, but a set of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs grabbed the attention of the three women. Ursula stood up straight, her hands folded together.

The door opened to reveal Stoick, the most brilliant of timid smiles behind his ruddy beard.

"Val?" He said in a breath.

Valka could have cried. She practically flew off of her bed and into his arms where he swung her around in the tiniest of circles. Their relationship was still new, still uncertain…but the thought of losing Stoick and his love carved everything in stone for Valka.

She loved him: she loved him, she loved him, _she loved him_.


	16. For the Dancing and the Dreaming

Footsteps at the door startled Ursula. She was not expecting her children to be home so soon. Spitelout had a meeting up in Mead Hall, and the girls had just left for their sewing circle. She sighed, half expecting Valka to come flying in, ranting about forgetting something, but no one came through.

Perplexed, Ursula folded up her apron, the one Valka had given her for her birthday months ago, and reached the door just as a knock fell upon the wood.

"Chief!" Ursula gasped as she opened the door. Stoick had a healthy dusting of snow on his fur mantle and in his hair. It was snowing and the foolish man was walking around Berk without a hat!

"Come in before you freeze to death!"

She sat him in a chair before the hearth and removed his wet cloak.

"Ursula I'm fine, really. I've been outside for hours."

"Hours?" She tutted. "I bundled up both Spitelout and Valka before they headed out. Your poor mother is probably yelling at you from Valhalla as we speak, about her boar headed boy not wearing a hat."

Stoick chuckled, "Aye, she probably is."

Ursula putted around the kitchen, and set some water over the fire to boil.

"Some hot tea will warm you right up," she pulled up a chair across from him and sat.

"Ursula," Stoick cleared his throat, "I'm sure you know why I'm here."

"Oh I've been expecting you for a few weeks now, but I do want you to say it anyway."

"Alright: I want to ask Valka to marry me."

Ursula could not contain her excitement. She threw herself out of her chair and kissed the chief's cheek, only to recoil in disgrace. "I'm so sorry-"

"Don't be: you're to be my mother-in-law…at least if Valka says yes."

"She's a smart girl, she will. Have you thought about how to ask her?"

"I…I have…" he fiddled anxiously in his seat. "But that's another reason why I'm here. You see, Valka had mentioned a song, she said it was her favorite song…she said that Smitelout had written it-"

"For me," now Ursula truly was crying. "He wrote it for me."

"Aye, he did…could you teach me it?"

"I can…oh but Stoick, it's so short-"

"I still would like to hear it, please."

The water was boiling. Ursula excused herself to brew the tea, but when she returned she was whistling. Stoick's eyes widened as he listened to the melody, simple and sweet: it was a tune he was depending on, a tune of destiny.

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas…with ne'er a fear of drowning…and gladly ride the waves of life…if you will marry me…_ "

Ursula's voice was enchanting enough, but those words…gods those words…

" _No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey…if you will promise me your heart, and love me for eternity…"_

She paused a moment, wiping at her eyes. "That's all there is. Smitelout had always said he would continue it…but he was never really one for poetry; gods know how long it took him to write those lines."

"It's beautiful. I can see why Valka loves it. Is there a dance?"

"You're still after that dance aren't you?"

"I bought it fair and square."

They shared a laugh.

"No, there's no dance. Usually Smitelout and I would just…sway. Not very Viking like I know."

"Alright so…could we make a dance?"

"Why Chief, are you asking me for a dance?" Ursula fluttered her eyes mischievously.

Stoick laughed. "I suppose I am."

* * *

Valka sat on the bench at her table, running her finger around the rim of her mug in a dainty, absentminded way. She was bored and lonely: Spitelout and Lundy were still locked away on their honeymoon, her mother was in the kitchens, and Stoick was missing. Odina and Aron Hofferson sat across the hall with Finn trying to edge into their conversations. Over in the corner, her female housemates were giggling over their boys with the exception of Phlegma, who looked ready for murder. Valka shuddered: she and Phlegma were not good companions, but because of Spitelout's marriage days ago, Valka and Ursula had moved into the house of Solfrid, Hilly, and Phlegma the Fierce. It was their only option.

Well, the only _sane_ option. Gods know Valka did _not_ want to be in the same house during her brother's honeymoon…

"Are you going to drink that?"

Valka glanced up: Gobber stood beside her. She shook her head and slid the tankard over to him.

"Thanks," he downed it in one gulp. "How are the girls treating you?"

"Okay I guess," Valka slid over so that the blacksmith could sit. "Solfrid wants mum and me to be comfortable, so she's been really hospitable…but she's normally out with Fisk. Hilly meanwhile makes me _uncomfortable_ …but I'm pretty sure Phlegma wants to murder me in my sleep."

"She's like that with everyone. Don't know why Stoick brought her along…"

"She's Solfrid's sister?"

"Night and day they are."

Valka nodded. "Yup."

She slid her finger across where her mug had been, her skin soaking up the moisture.

"I've been meaning to thank you."

"For what?"

"Not telling anyone, about Stoick and me," she smiled up at him. "It means a lot to me."

"Yeah well, you make him happy, happier than I've seen him in a long time. Don't know why though," he smirked, "You're a talking fishbone."

"That's me alright," Valka chuckled. "But really, thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm surprised it's still a secret though, what with Lundy knowing."

"She's been a bit preoccupied," as soon as Valka said that she blushed. "I mean with the wedding and everything! Not, you know, ugh…"

"Oh relax girl, I know what you meant…and what you didn't mean." He said with a wink. Valka nudged him with her elbow and laughed.

"Glad to see the two of you getting along," a familiar voice came up behind them. Valka had to remind herself not to overreact when she turned to face Stoick. She smiled as if she was just another one of his villagers.

"Good evening Chief," she said pleasantly, resisting the urge to plant a kiss on his cheek.

"Where have you been?" Gobber scolded. "I had half the village coming up to me asking about you, and when I said I didn't know where you were they started telling me all of their problems! Mildew said that Buffnut has been trespassing again and spooking his sheep, Mrs. Ick is having a fight with Mrs. Lichen, there's multiple repairs that need to be done after the last raid-"

"Okay okay I got it Gobber," he rolled his eyes and winked at Valka. "Why don't you come with me and tell me all about it. Ms. Jorgenson doesn't need to be bored to death."

"Oh I don't mind Chief, it can be my entertainment."

Stoick straightened, his back rigid. "Er, no, not tonight V- I mean Ms. Jorgenson. Another time."

He gestured for Gobber to follow him. Gobber shrugged his shoulders, just as confused as Valka.

And so she was alone again, typical.

The musicians ended their song with a flourish as the dancing Vikings clapped. The dance floor cleared and the musicians abandoned their instruments, no doubt in search of another round of ale. Everything had gone quiet, but Valka didn't mind the silence at all.

She could even hear someone whistling…

 _It sounds like daddy,_ Valka mused. Her contented smile vanished. _Too much like him._

Those notes, those seven notes that turned into more notes…that turned into words.

"Oh gods…"

Turning around on her bench, Valka saw him in the middle of the dance floor. Everyone was staring, but he didn't look away. His eyes were entranced by her.

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas…with ne'er a fear of drowning…_ " He approached her, slowly, cautiously. His hands were clasped at his stomach. Valka couldn't breathe.

" _And gladly ride the waves of life…if_ you _would marry_ me."

A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Valka went numb.

" _Her_?!" Someone shouted.

"What's going on?"

Stoick ignored them. He would have glared at them had he not been so intent.

" _No scorching sun nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey_ - _"_

 _"_ Stop joking around Chief!"

" _If you would promise me your heart…"_

He knelt before her on one knee. His hands clasped around her trembling ones. His brows were raised above hopeful eyes. The smile did not wane from his face.

The last line, he wanted her to sing it. He _needed_ her to sing it.

But she didn't.

Instead she did what she did best, what she was known for doing in this hall: she fled.

Only, she couldn't bring herself to reach the door. She stopped just shy of the crowd and granted herself a peek over her shoulder. Stoick had gone down onto both knees, his posture collapsed as he slumped forward in defeat. Whispers flew around the room faster than Terrible Terrors scurrying. Eyes were curious, questioning, accusing as they stared at her. Valka ignored them, she had to.

 _No one else's opinions matters except for yours and his_ , wasn't that what her mother had said?

She spotted her mother in the crowd towards the kitchens. Their eyes met. Despite the sadness in her eyes, Ursula managed a small smile before mouthing an all too obvious: _go_.

Valka inhaled: yes, she knew what she thought and what she wanted.

" _And love me for eternity…_ "

Stoick's head perked up, his grin spreading until it seemed as though it would break from effort.

Despite the end of the song, Valka continued as she stepped towards him. She could not resist the temptation of words that seemed to flow from her heart.

" _My dearest one my darling dear, your mighty words astound me…_ " he stood up, his body was trembling. He leaned in towards her, but she held up a finger. " _But I've no need of mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me._ "

He chuckled, grabbing her hands.

"Oh! _But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry!_ " He knelt down on the ground again and spun Valka over his outstretched leg. " _And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me_!"

He didn't stammer. He didn't stutter. He knew exactly what to say.

So did she.

" _I have no use from rings of gold, I care not for your_ poetry," she stuck her tongue out in jest. He swept her into his arms. " _I only want your hand to hold, I-"_

 _"I only want YOU near me!"_

 _"To love-"_

 _"To kiss-"_

 _"To sweetly hold-"_

 _"_ FOR THE DANCING AND THE DREAMING!" Ursula called out from the crowd, tears in her eyes.

Stoick chuckled. " _Through all life's sorrows and delights I'll keep your love inside me_!"

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas with ne'er a fear of drowning-"_

 _"And gladly ride the waves of life-"_

 _"IF YOU WILL MARRY ME!"_

Stoick lifted her up into the air as they sustained the final note. Valka felt as though she truly was flying. The world had disappeared: it was just her and Stoick. He spun her around, laughing at her giggles, at the redness of her cheeks, of the love he felt for her.

"So, is that a yes then Val?" He asked breathlessly. Valka could not cease her laughter.

"Yes! Yes it's a yes!"

He brought her down for a kiss, their first public one.

No one clapped. No one said anything.

No one except for Gobber.

"Oy! Didn't you hear? The Chief's getting married!"

The applause started out slow and scattered, but the longer Stoick held on to her, the louder everything became. Valka blushed, burying her head into Stoick's chest. She heard Solfrid's voice calling out from over the crowd:

"Yeah Valka!"

"Bring out more mead!" Gobber shouted again. "This calls for a celebration!"

Stoick held her closer to his chest, to his heart. It was galloping. He smelled of sweat and morning dew and the ocean breeze. His hands ran through her hair with a gentleness unheard of for such a large man. The world around them dissipated once more.

"My Val," he whispered to her. "Guess I finally got that dance huh?"

 _Yes_ , she repeated the word over and over in her head. She would dance with him every day. She would sing the song her father wrote for her mother, and sing the words that came from her heart. She would be his wife. She would kiss him good morning and goodnight every day for the rest of their lives. For the rest of eternity, she would love him.

 _Yes.  
_

* * *

Two for one special today! I hope that every one enjoys-I listened to the song on repeat while writing this.

Don't worry, their story is continuing! Valka's all grown up now and about to become a wife...and more :)


	17. Three Weeks and Two Days

**Big things are happening folks!**

* * *

"Ugh!"

Valka brought her head out of her trunk and turned to the open door. Phlegma was standing in the doorway, her permanent scowl even deeper than normal. In her arms was a massive decorative box that, although Phlegma carried it with ease, looked like it weighed a ton.

"Another delivery for you," she slammed the box down roughly.

"Thanks," Valka sighed. "I told the dock workers to send everything to _Stoick's_ house…"

"Well apparently they aren't listening to _you_."

Valka bit her tongue. Her relationship with Phlegma had only soured since her engagement. The other girls were around less and less, so Phlegma was the unintended greeter of well-wishers and gift bearers…a task she made obvious that she loathed.

"I lugged it in here, at least you could show me what's in it."

With a repressed groan, Valka stood and dusted off her hands. Gobber had built her a bridal trunk as a gift, and Valka had spent the past hour going through its inventory…at least everything that would fit.

She read the tag: "It's from Mo…"

Phlegma grimaced but huffed impatiently. "Go on."

The box opened with a creak. Inside was a hunk of metal, shapeless in its tucked away state. Valka blinked, unsure of its usage, until she pulled it out.

"Oh…my… _GODS_!" Phlegma shrieked in laughter, doubling over until she nearly fell to the floor.

"Is this what I think it is?" Valka could feel all of the blood rushing to her cheeks. Phlegma was hysterical, squealing and snorting, unable to control herself.

The Chief of the Meatheads had sent her…a breastplate.

The metal was intricate and beautifully crafted, with a series of interlacing diamonds across the waist and braided leather straps.

Unfortunately for Valka…it built for a woman of a much larger size…particularly in the chest.

"Two of you could fit in that!" Phlegma wheezed, catching her breath. "Maybe three."

"Well…Mo has never met me before…I guess he thought Stoick would pick a more-"

Her flustered face sent Phlegma into another attack of laughter.

"Alright, alright," Valka grumbled. "I know it's funny…at least this box is nice."

"You're going to need it for all this junk you're getting."

Valka placed the armor to the side and retreated back into the depths of her large trunk. There, she found a series of yarn balls, knitting needles, sewing needles, thread, and other miscellaneous sewing items she had been gifted. Hoisted the hodgepodge into her arms she dumped it into the new, smaller box.

"Ta-da, a sewing box."

"Wow. So much progress. Congrats."

Fortunately the younger girl made her way out of Valka's tiny bedroom, and with it her attitude. Valka had been very tempted to throw something at Phlegma on several occasions, but the possibility of broken bones, bruised skin, and a concussion always convinced her to restrain herself.

Of course, Phlegma was Stoick's ward…and Valka was Stoick's intended…

"Nah," Valka shook her head. She preferred living, especially when she had so much to live for.

They were to be married on the first Fredag of Goa, the women's month. Stoick had insisted on that day so that he could have an entire month off from running the village. He had already made it very clear that during Goa, he was to be a husband first and a chief last.

It was only a handful of weeks away.

Whereas the planning for Spitelout and Lundy's wedding had been long and tedious, everything fell into place for the Chief's wedding. Appointments were made immediately, voyages were cancelled; even Gothi predicted fair weather despite the date falling in winter. Villagers were waiting on Stoick hand and foot to make sure that his wedding was perfect.

Only, they seemed to have forgotten that it was Valka's wedding too.

Furrowing her brow, Valka began to reorganize and reconfigure her trunk for the hundredth time.

"Valka?"

She sighed: Lundy. There goes her peace and quiet.

"I'm up here Lundy."

Her sister by marriage timidly stepped into Valka's closet of a bedroom. Her dark curls were pinned up now, and she no longer wore a krasen. Her cloak was littered with melting snowflakes, the bottom of her dress wet from her trek.

"You could have hung your cloak up by the fire," Valka said stiffly.

"No, I'm not planning on staying long." Lundy glanced around timidly. "Do you need any help?"

"No…the faster I'm through with this the more gifts will come, then I'll have to do this again."

"Oh, okay." Lundy skirted around the clutter until she found a bare spot on Valka's bed. Valka frowned; she was acting less cheerful than usual.

"You sure have a lot of gifts."

"More than I need, more than _any_ Viking would need I think." An idea came to Valka. She lunged over and grabbed the breastplate. "Do you want this? Chief Mo sent it to me and, er…well…"

Lundy held up the armor and smirked.

"Did he have it made for Stoick or for you?"

Valka chuckled. "You can have it if you want it."

"I don't…" Lundy paused. "I don't really have a _need_ for it Valka."

"Ceremonial?"

"Er…"

Valka rolled her eyes. "Alright Lundy, whatever you say."

"I'm-not- going- to- _fit-_ in- it!" Lundy babbled suddenly, throwing her hand over her mouth in shock. Her eyes widened. "I…I mean…" With a sigh, she lowered her hand. "I'm pregnant."

" _ARE YOU KIDDING_ - _"_

"Shhhh, not so loud!" Lundy pleaded. "I only just found out."

"Lundy that's great! Did you tell Spite-?"

"No! No, no I haven't."

There were tears in her eyes. Valka couldn't understand.

"It's too early, I was hoping that Spite and I…oh Valk…"

"Lunds, listen." Valka crept up onto the bed beside her. "I know that my brother can be…er…caustic…but he's never that way with you. He loves you...disgustingly so."

"Hah!" Lundy snorted. "That sounds more like Stoick with you. Spitelout would never sing to me."

"Maybe not, but everyone loves differently, and I know that Spite would love any child you have together. I mean he managed not to hurt me when I was a kid." Valka lowered her voice, suddenly concerned. "Do you know…how far along you are?"

"Only a few weeks…I only had a feeling because of being a midwife and all." She gave a sharp halfhearted chuckle. "A midwife who will have to deliver her own baby."

"It's been done and you know it. Besides, your mom, my mom, and I will be there. Odina maybe too…who knows who else? We're going to have more weddings soon. Maybe they'll all have babes around the same time."

"What about you?"

Valka laughed weakly. "Yeah, maybe me…but right now let's worry about you. I won't tell anyone, promise. Right now things are so crazy I'll probably forget about it in an hour…Baby? What baby?"

Lundy's shoulders relaxed slightly. Her smile was much more natural.

"Thanks Valk… maybe in return I should start lecturing you on _wifely duties_ -"

"Nope! Nope! Not listening! I am not listening to you!"

* * *

Valka smiled slyly as she made her way through the village. Stoick was standing outside of a house in the final stages of construction, speaking with Umber, the main builder, and Fisk Ingerman. She walked right past him without a word, taking great care to make sure that he noticed her. It had become a fun little game to her, watching Stoick become incredibly distracted by her presence…she adored the smitten grins and love-struck eyes he gave her. Funny how a man as imposing as Stoick could be reduced to a romantic heap just by her walking by. Valka was determined to use this power of hers for good…most of the time.

"Hey! Val?"

She grinned. And sometimes it was to get Stoick off duty early.

"Oh, hey Stoick," she turned around gracefully. "I didn't see you there. Are you busy?"

"Me? No, we were just finalizing the plans for Fisk's house."

"Fisk? I thought that house was going to be… _oh_."

So, Fisk had proposed to Solfrid. Finally. He had only asked Stoick months ago.

"Aye, no more bachelor living for him. The man's smart but he's clueless when it comes to building things, so I had him work with Umber today. Fortunately no limbs were lost, though his thumbs need some bandaging."

"Well I'm glad he finally asked her…I think seeing all of our gifts has given her a case of the green eyed monster."

"All of our…?" Stoick smacked his forehead. "Really? I told the dock workers to-"

"Aha! So they aren't just not listening to me!"

"Not listening…why would you think they weren't listen to you?"

"I thought that they just, didn't want to listen to me…because I'm me." She said with a shrug.

"Well they better learn quickly. You're going to be my Lady Chief in only-"

"Three weeks and two days."

"Hm," Stoick took her hand in his. "Any way we could make it tomorrow?"

"Only if you want to throw the entire village into chaos! I don't even have my dress-"

"Ah, about that…" Stoick took Valka's hand tighter, pulling her out of the prying eyes of onlookers. They ducked behind another house, where footprints and sunlight had not eaten away at the snow. Stoick dug into his little pouch at his belt, his brows furrowing.

"Oh don't tell me I…thank Thor." He clasped something secret in his palms. "I was thinking that, you might want to add this to your wedding dress in some way…"

Stoick held in his hands a medallion, tiny and shimmering in his massive palms. He passed it to her, its weight surprisingly light. Carved into the bronze on one side was the face of a Viking warrior. On the other was the face of a dragon.

"I had Gobber make it for me," he explained quietly. "It means that I will protect you with my life, from Viking," he flipped it over. "And from dragon."

"Stoick…it's beautiful…"

"It's a sort of betrothal gift…minus the whole six moons part."

" _Someone_ didn't want to wait more than six moons to get married."

"Well," Stoick chuckled, bringing her in close to his chest. "Some traditions can be broken."

Valka cradled the medallion near her heart. "I'll wear it when I meet you."

"In three weeks and two days?"

"In three weeks and two days."

He kissed her brow softly, brushing off the snowdrift that had landed in her hair.

"Now, let's see what we can do about those gifts, shall we?"

Valka laughed sharply, unable to contain her amusement upon remembering her newest gift.

"Wait until you see what Chief Mo sent me!"

She grabbed his hand and yanked him towards her home. Stoick made no attempt to resist.

* * *

"Did you finish writing down the words?"

Valka cracked open one eye to glance at her mother. Ursula was hard at work brushing out Valka's long hip length hair.

"Yeah: they're in my trunk."

Ursula sighed contently, kissing the top of her daughter's head lightly. "You did what your father could never do: finish that song."

"Daddy was never big on poetry."

"Which is why that song was such a surprise. He never thought of a dance to it as well. That man of yours is surprisingly light on his feet. Guess it's the warrior in him."

"Stoick never danced before that night," Valka murmured. "He hated it."

"Could have fooled me." Ursula began to pile Valka's hair on top of her head. "We'll have to think of a look for your hair once you're married. No more of these long braids…"

"But I like my braids. Stoick does too."

"It's tradition Vally-"

"Stoick told me today some traditions can be broken."

"That's rather unlike him…what have you done to that man?"

Valka giggled. "I guess I'm magic."

Ursula grew silent. She let go of Valka's hair and slid off the cot. She came to rest in front of Valka, kneeling down on the floor before her.

"Mum?"

"Valka, listen to me," Ursula began. "Don't let this village change who you are. You're different, you've always been different, and I pray to the gods that you'll always be different. This village needs different; they need _you_ , but they just don't know it yet."

"Mum? What are you-"

"And don't let Stoick change you either. He loves you, but he's a stubborn man, a boar headed man. When the village whispers in his ears, remind him of the woman he fell in love with, the woman that _he_ decided to marry."

"He doesn't care what the village-"

"He may one day, one day when it matters. Stand your ground and show him. Show all of them."

Ursula enveloped her daughter in a hug that silenced Valka. She hugged back.

"I want you to have something," Ursula began. "Something important."

Hidden beneath the bed and now in Ursula's hands, was the oval mirror, trimmed in pearls.

"I always wanted you to have it. Your grandmother passed it to me before she died. She never met your father…but this mirror made it feel like a part of her was there when I married him."

"Mum…"

Ursula grinned. "I'm sure Lundy would have loved to have it, but it's yours now. And if you ever have a daughter of your own, you can give it to her for her bridal trunk."

Valka could not believe it. Her eyes began to sting. "Mum…thank you."

Her mother kissed her forehead. "You should sleep. Even if the wedding is three weeks-"

"And two days-"

Ursula smiled sadly. "And two days away, we want a well-rested bride."

Carefully, Ursula placed the mirror among Valka's gifts, which had decreased in number thanks to Stoick's efforts. She gave her daughter one final kiss goodnight before stepping out into the hall and shutting the door.

Slinking downstairs, Ursula sighed heavily. Her thoughts were consumed by Valka and her upcoming nuptials. Stoick was a good man, a _great_ man. The very idea that the Chief had fallen for her daughter, her little girl? She thanked Frigga every night for her generosity.

Still, something felt off. The marriage would be a happy one, she had no doubt about that, but in the back of her mind she could not shake the feeling that something was amiss, that there would be a great sadness in their lives.

Ursula shook her head at the ridiculous notion. Valka was happy, as was Stoick. She was not a soothsayer or an oracle and had no right to be making assumptions such as that.

The house was quiet. Phlegma had gone off for guard duty, and Solfrid and Hilly were off with their beaus. Content at the stillness, Ursula nestled down into the armchair, sleepily watching the fire dying off. She shivered and drew her shawl closer about her shoulders.

Just as she was about to doze off, she coughed. It had been the same cough she had had for days, a little cough on account of the cold weather. She coughed into her shawl a handful of times before she felt the urge slip away.

She blinked, once, twice.

 _I must be more tired than I thought,_ Ursula pondered.

She could have sworn, right before she slipped off to sleep, that there was blood on her shawl.


	18. The Wedding

**The long awaited wedding! Sorry it's taken so long: I've been busy with work and this chapter needed a lot of time. Please enjoy!**

* * *

Valka rarely wore her kransen: it never sat quite right on her head and it would often give her awful headaches. But on the morning of the long awaited day, she placed it dutifully atop of her hair, only for Lundy and Odina to remove it moments later.

Her wedding day had begun.

Six women encircled Valka as the preparations began. Ursula tried desperately to hide her tears. Lundy and Odina moved about in giddy silence. Lundy's mother Ragna provided comfort to Ursula, while Tonna Thomasson watched on. The leader of the attendants was Gothi who, in her silent way, still managed to keep order.

With a grunt, Gothi directed Lundy and Odina to take Valka to the bath house. Valka was clothed in only a long robe, and shivered upon exiting her house. The bath house was already full of steam, and her companions practically dumped her into the scalding waters.

"Are you trying to burn me to death?" She glared at them, her body adjusting to the heat.

"Gotta wash away your maiden status," Odina snickered. Lundy smiled slightly, pulling up Valka's arm out of the water to cover it in scented soap. "Speaking of which, where shall we start Lund?"

"Let's just get her clean first," Lundy responded quietly.

Valka had never been scrubbed so meticulously. At times it felt as though the girls were tearing away skin, but when Valka touched her extremities she found her skin to be smooth and delicate, like flower petals.

"The most important thing is to keep him happy," Lundy began. "No matter what that means. You are the keeper of the house but he is the ruler of the house…and of Berk."

"Only if you let him think that," Odina scoffed. "Aron knows that I'm in charge."

"Because he's smart enough to not get on your bad side."

"I know what I like and what I want."

Lundy rolled her eyes. "Anyway…like I said, keep him happy…and satisfied."

"You can't cook, so you've got to make up for it somehow."

"Dina!"

Valka slipped deeper into the water to hide her flushing cheeks. The arguing above her continued, though muffled through the water that throbbed against her ears. She blew out bubbles that tickled the tip of her nose and watched as her hair flowed out around her like tendrils of enchanted vines.

When she finally came back up, Odina and Lundy were still deep in their arguing.

"I'm a shield maiden Lundy!"

"But you're also a wife!"

"Maybe Aron likes a little fight in his wife, ever think of that?"

They were so engrossed, they hadn't noticed Valka slipping out of the bath.

She had not been looking forward to the next part of preparation: the cold bath. Whereas the steam bath had opened her skin for cleansing, the cold bath was to close her pores and to preserve her blessed state. The surface of the cold water was sprinkled with herbs, and the water had a glossy sheen to it, no doubt from the sacred oils.

She frowned, knowing what those oils intended purpose was. Nevertheless, Valka braced herself and sunk down into the chilled water. Despite the frosty weather of Berk, Valka hated the cold. She preferred the sweet crisp air of autumn, or the sunny days of summer. Winter, which was an unfortunate majority of the year on Berk, made her feel claustrophobic.

"Oh good," Odina said. "We didn't need to force you in there."

"No, but can I get out now?" Valka's teeth had begun to chatter.

"Nope. The oils have to seep in to 'bless you with fertility,' and all that nonsense. Of course you can drink that nasty tea if you're not ready for a Stoick the Second."

 _Please don't say it, please don't say it, please don't say it..._

"But it's Valka's duty to give Stoick an heir," Lundy explained in a matter-of-fact way.

Odina, surprisingly, winked at Valka. "I'll give you some. Keeps things in order."

"Do we have to talk about this?" Valka protested.

"Well," the blonde girl grinned, "We could talk about what comes _before_ babes."

Despite the cold, Valka submerged herself underneath the water once more.

* * *

"Stop that," Tonna scolded, noticing how Valka was picking at her nails. "Hold still."

"Mum," Valka searched for her mother, finding her inspecting Valka's dress. "Help?"

"Tonna," Ursula began, "The girl needs to get up and move. You've been at her hair for hours."

"Need I remind you that she is marrying the Chief? She needs to look her absolute best."

"If you keep fiddling with my daughter's hair, she'll not have any left!" Ursula shooed Tonna away, gently despite the sharpness of her tone. "It's about time for her to be dressed anyway. Lundy, where is your mum with Valka's crown?"

"She just had to sew on a few more branches!"

Flowers had been hard to come by in the winter, so the women had added evergreen branches instead. Ursula had never had a bridal crown, due to the hastiness of her marriage, and so Valka's was to be a completely new creation.

"Let's get you into your dress," she smiled at her daughter, noticing how Valka trembled.

Her gown was the nicest thing she would ever own. Green like the forests she loved, trimmed in gold along the hem and swoop of the neck. The sleeves were tight, fitting her slim arms perfectly before folding out into a bell shape at each wrist. On her shoulders she wore a white fur mantle, as pristine as freshly fallen snow.

The medallion Stoick had given her was the clasp that held the cape together, right at the base of her neck. Valka could feel it vibrating as her pulse raced faster and faster.

"Here it is!" Ragna paraded into Valka's room holding the crown aloft. What little metal that shaped the crown had been buried beneath interweaving branches of fresh pine and spruce. Tiny little white flowers poked between the needles, as well as small red berries. Ragna had to stand on a chair to affix the bridal crown atop Valka's head, and when it was in place Lundy burst into tears.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She waved away comfort as he wiped at her tears. "You just look so-"

"Beautiful."

Everyone froze.

The word had come from the silent observer in the corner: Gothi had spoken.

"Like Freya herself."

Valka smiled faintly, glancing down at her bare feet. "Thank you, Gothi."

The elder grunted, and said no more. The time had come.

"Spite's downstairs," Ursula said in a whisper. The other attendants took their leave in giddy silence, rushing to the festivities. "Do you want to see yourself?"

Valka pondered the question: did she wish to look into the mirror? Would she recognize the girl-no, the woman staring back at her? Timidly, Valka nodded, and Ursula retrieved her mirror; it had not yet made the journey over to Stoick's house.

The woman in the mirror had the largest eyes Valka had ever seen: round, wide, and full of wonder. Her cheeks were naturally rosy, and her slim brows were raised in tranquil meditation. Her unbound hair fell to just about her hips in soft waves. Tonna, despite having tortured Valka for making her sit so long, had managed to make Valka's hair shine as if the sun was hidden beneath her scalp. Valka could not recall ever seeing tiny strands of blonde framing her face; had they always been there, or were they a sign of Frigg's blessing?

"You have your father's eyes, did you know that?" Ursula said sadly. "Most babes are born with dark blue eyes, but yours were very nearly that color when you first opened them to the world." Her lip quivered; she had to turn away from her daughter. "I spent sixteen years gazing into those eyes every day, and now I feel as if I will never see them again."

"Mum…" Valka sniffed. "I'll still be here. I'm not leaving you."

Ursula nodded stiffly, hugging her arms. "I told myself not to cry."

"Oh please don't; if you start then I'll start and-"

Too late: Valka had started to weep. She felt her nerves ebb as her mother embraced her. Valka was tall enough to put her chin atop her mother's head. She exhaled deeply.

"No tears Vally: it's a happy day."

"Thor's thunder, it's a bloody miracle!" A third voice called from the doorway. Spitelout had arrived, looking uncharacteristically trim and pleasant. "You actually look like a girl for once! Who are you and what have you done with my little sissy?"

Valka rolled her eyes, instantly irritated yet cheered.

"I should say the same to you, oh brother of mine. Are your fingernails actually clean?"

"Cleaner than they were for my own wedding." He crossed the threshold, greeting Ursula first with a peck on the cheek. "Hi mum."

"Hello darling, you look very handsome. Do you have the sword?"

"Right downstairs: it looks great."

Valka smiled, relieved. The Jorgenson ancestral sword was in Lundy's possession, as Spitelout had given it to her for safe keeping during their ceremony. Instead of borrowing it, Valka had commissioned Gobber to create a new sword for Stoick…a difficult feat considering how particular Stoick was about his weapons. She hoped that he would be pleased.

"Well," Ursula sighed. "I'll be on my way. Don't forget to smile dear."

She kissed both of her children on their cheeks before departing. Spitelout and Valka were alone.

"Is Stoick nervous?" Valka felt compelled to ask.

"If he is nervous he isn't showing it: he's been singing and whistling all morning. Giving me a headache." He eyed her warily. "You?"

"I haven't had time to be nervous. They had to make me look like a girl somehow."

Spitelout snorted a laugh. Together they started down the stairs.

"Want to take bets on who cries first?"

"Oh mum, for sure." Valka had to hold her dress up so as not to step on it.

"Mum? Nah, I'm thinking Lundy."

"She already started before."

"Oh gods seriously?"

"Yep."

"Okay then, Gobber."

"Gobber? Really?"

"Stoick's his best friend, they're practically brothers. He's a bit of a softy too."

"Must explain why he wasn't so keen on me to start," Valka said. "He's lightened up though."

"Glad to hear it," After retrieving the sword, Spitelout stopped just at the door, his palm on the handle. "I'm proud of you Vally. I know I haven't been the best of brothers, and that I've been sort of a…er…sort of a…"

"An ass?"

Spitelout grumbled. "Yeah, that…especially since Dad died…but you're my sister and I love you."

Valka rested the side of her head against his shoulder. "I love you too brother."

* * *

Stoick wore red, a rich burgundy that provided contrast against his fiery hair. He had forgone his bracers and chain mail in exchange for simplicity. The sleeves of his embroidered tunic were long and tight, stretched across the bulk of his muscles. His pants were striped in shades of gray, ending in a pair of brown fur boots. Around his waist was an elaborate braided belt, complete with a buckle of his family's crest. Draped from his shoulders was the long brown cloak of the chief.

He appeared younger without the burden of armor. There was a giddiness in his eyes the second they found Valka making her way to him. He smiled, his cheeks rosy, illuminating the freckles that had begun to fade in the winter months. Valka noticed a hammer at his hip, its head gleaming in the sunlight: he was paying tribute to Thor no doubt. At the other hip was a scabbard, holding the ancestral sword of the Haddocks.

Valka gulped. She knew it was her duty to safeguard that sword for their future son, so that he may one day present it to his bride, and so on and so on. They weren't even husband and wife yet and already the future seemed so set in stone… the result of centuries of traditions then, wasn't it?

 _Just like the dragons_ , she thought with a scowl.

Spitelout strode ahead of her, holding her sword in outstretched palms. Reaching the semicircle where their ceremony was to take place, he bowed slightly in respect towards Stoick. Valka took notice of the thousands of eyes looking her way, scrutinizing her from top to bottom.

The Chief's wife.

The freak.

Valka shook her head quickly. "Stop it. Not now," she muttered under her breath. Stoick raised a brow inquisitively, but Valka simply smiled. "Later," she mouthed.

Stoick, mollified for the moment, released the breath he had been holding. He reached for his sword, unleashing it with pride, before passing it over to Valka. The blade was awkward and heavy in her delicate hands; fortunately for her she did not have to hold it long. Spitelout replaced the Haddock sword with Valka's sword, which she quickly passed on to Stoick. The Chief's eyes widened as he examined the intricate metal work, before passing the sword off to Gobber. The two attendants returned to their seats.

"No more formalities," Stoick said breathlessly, words meant only for the girl in front of him. Valka smiled as his hands folded around hers. Her body calmed just by his touch. Their officiant, a stand-in for Gothi, rambled on and on about Frigg's blessing and Odin's approval, but it fell on deaf ears. Stoick and Valka stared at one another, having an entire secret conversation with their eyes.

"Chief?" Lassar, the elderly officiant interrupted. "Your ring?"

Stoick reached down to Lassar's hand, fetching out a tiny gold ring.

"Valka," he began. "With this ring, I pledge to you not only my heart, but my mind, spirit, and body. All are yours from this day until my last day, from this life into what lies beyond. I vow to honor you, cherish you, and keep you as a wife, a partner, and a friend."

He slipped the delicate loop onto her finger: a perfect fit of course.

Valka took Stoick's ring, a much larger circle of gold, and said her vows.

"Stoick, with this ring I pledge to you not only my heart, but my mind, spirit, and body. All are yours from this day until my last day, from this life into what lies beyond. I vow to honor you, cherish you, and obey you as a husband, a partner, and a friend."

His ring, like hers, was a perfect fit.

"Let the gods in Asgard shine down upon this union as we celebrate the coming together of Valka and Stoick Haddock!"

As the crowd burst into cheers of "long live the chief," Stoick swept Valka off of her trembling feet and into his arms. His kiss, and the several that followed, drowned out the remainder of the world and its cruelty. There was no room for malice or ill will in their shroud of happiness.

She was Mrs. Haddock, the wife of the Chief.

Their judging eyes be damned.

* * *

"Ready Val?"

"Yes, but please don't kill the tree."

They encircled a sturdy oak, its branches bare, but its trunk thick and dense. Gobber had given Stoick the sword Valka had made for him, and yet again the Chief examined the metal work in admiration.

"Don't look at me," Gobber insisted. "Yer wife designed it!"

"I love it. You have an eye for beauty my dear."

Valka blushed. Someone in the crowd shouted: "Just hit the tree already!"

Stoick obliged: he took his sword and plunged it into the bark of the tree. The wood practically parted for the impact, producing a deep fissure that caused Stoick some difficulties in removing the blade. Whistles and cheers arose from the men of the crowd.

"Attaboy Chief!"

Valka's cheeks turned from pink to crimson.

* * *

Contrary to the new, popular belief, Stoick was _not_ a good dancer.

Valka had to stifle her giggles as she watched her new husband fumble around on the dance floor with her mother. Ursula was three steps ahead of him and, unlike Stoick, had a decent sense of rhythm. Valka could notice Stoick's cheeks reddening in frustration, but he continued to smile and laugh at his own expense. When the song finally ended, Stoick made an attempt to retreat back to his seat, but Solfrid grabbed his arm and held him hostage for the next song, with even more disastrous results.

"And I thought I was clumsy," Gobber said beside her.

"You only have one leg," Valka replied.

"So what's his excuse?"

Valka snorted into her mug.

"Guess he had a good reason for never dancing, I mean really!" He gestured to Stoick, who was raising his arms awkwardly, in an almost unnatural way. "He did a decent job with you though."

"Because she's the only one I'm meant to dance with," Stoick's deep voice came from in front of them. He appeared flustered and winded, but his smile was tender as he gazed down at his bride. "Wife?"

"Yes husband?"

They both snickered at their new names.

"Dance with me?"

Valka nodded eagerly and took Stoick's hand. A soft padding of drums and a hum of a flute accompanied them as they made their way towards the empty dance floor. The music was new, but the song was not. Right on cue, Stoick began to whistle, before his whistle dissolved into words.

" _I'll swim and sail on savage seas…_ "

The village was enraptured by the ensuing performance. Stoick had done spectacularly: he had not missed a single beat. Valka was grateful that she had written down the words they had conceived for one another all those weeks ago in the very same hall. She considered embroidering them onto a quilt for their marriage bed; perhaps Stoick would carve them into the mantle. It had begun as a song for her parents, but Valka and Stoick had made it their own.

* * *

Gobber, Aron, Buffnut, Solfrid, Lundy, and Hilly followed behind Valka and Stoick, with torches in their hands. The men were drunk and the women were giddy, forming the most loquacious parade Berk had ever seen. Stoick was stone face as he held Valka's hand, heading up the knoll to the Chief's House. Valka was mortified: Hilly and Buffnut had begun singing a bawdy tavern song at the top of their lungs, complete with amorous sound effects. Stoick must have noticed the color in her cheeks.

"Don't worry, we'll get them back when it's their turn," he said with a wink.

Valka relaxed, but only slightly.

As they reached the threshold to Stoick's— _their_ house, Stoick swept Valka up into his arms. He entered the house proudly, turning Valka slowly so that she could take it all in. She had never been in Stoick's house, that was entirely improper…but now she was inside as his wife. The Chief's house was the largest and grandest of all the houses on Berk, though it was still simple and sparse in its design.

 _Bachelor pad no more,_ Valka thought. It could definitely use some feminine influence.

"Up we go," he whispered into her ear. The stairs were steep yet Stoick managed, even with her added weight. For a moment Valka wondered how she would fare, or even how a child would fare.

 _Gods,_ she thought with a hitch in her breath. _A child. I guess that's a reality now isn't it_?

"Val?"

She glanced up: Stoick had stopped on the stairs, his brows raised in concern.

"You alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

She pressed her cheek closer to his chest: "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

He exhaled, relieved. "Val…"

"OI! ARE YOU GOING UP OR NOT!?" Aron Hofferson hollered from behind them.

Stoick grumbled, muttering some unkind things about their guests beneath his breath. Valka's ribs ached from trying to withhold her laughter. Their little parade continued, up until the threshold of Stoick's…no, wrong again… _their_ bedroom. It was small, dark and cozy, with a single window. Simple and utilitarian, perfect for a Chief.

Stoick gingerly placed her down on the floor. Their entourage had crowded around the door, with Gobber at the helm. Valka stood timidly behind Stoick, uncertain of what was to happen next: would they really be standing there the entire time?

Surprisingly, Stoick's first move was not towards Valka, but towards Gobber. He had reached into his pocket, and took out a small bag.

"Ah ah ah," Gobber grinned. "Her crown first."

Stoick turned back, eyes widening in realization. With restless fingers, Stoick carefully removed Valka's lovely bridal crown, and held it aloft for all to see. The sextet applauded and cheered.

"Good man," Gobber continued. "And now for the…"

"Here," Stoick dropped the small bag into Gobber's hand. "Close the doors on your way out."

"You got it Chief!" Gobber turned and ushered the others out. "Alright, you heard the man. Out!"

As Stoick shut and locked the bedroom door, Valka sat on the edge of the bed; it was so high her feet couldn't even touch the floor.

"What was that about?" She asked.

Stoick placed Valka's bridal crown on a trunk—her bridal trunk. "A little negotiation."

"Wait did you…did you just _pay_ them off?"

He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly, his smile mischievous. "I mean, I can call them back…"

"No! No, no, this is fine. Great actually. Fantastic. So..." she exhaled. "Great."

The first thing Stoick did was remove his boots. He tossed them haphazardly by the door. When he sat down on the bed beside her, Valka bounced slightly from his weight against the cot.

"Long day," he said.

"Very."

"I only had to solve three conflicts today."

"Oh you're kidding…please tell me you didn't have to-"

He grinned. "I am: I made it clear that if anyone brought up an issue during my wedding that they would spend a month in the cells. Gods help them if they interrupt my honeymoon."

"I'm sure Gobber and the others will be fine," she rested a hand on his shoulder. "I know Spite is looking forward to the task."

"Hmm," he placed his hand atop of hers.

"Lundy's pregnant you know," Valka said suddenly. She felt foolish for blurting it out, but Stoick simply said: "I know."

"What? How?"

"Nothing happens on this island without me knowing about it."

"Stoick!"

He chuckled. "No Val, Spitelout told me. He said he wouldn't be able to help fill in during our honeymoon. I had to explain to him that it takes nine moons for a baby to grow…he was completely stunned."

"Well, he was almost five when I was born…and he is rather oblivious."

"Aye, unlike you. You notice everything."

"Like this," Valka tugged gently at his beard, removing a crooked strand. "You're turning silver."

"The stress of being a chief," he muttered solemnly. "But, now I have you to come home to, to help cheer me up."

"And here I'll stay."

He clasped her hand in his and brought it up to his lips to kiss each of her knuckles.

Valka melted at his touch.

"What were you thinking about during the ceremony?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh, lots of things-"

"No, you were thinking something bad. You had that line-" he pointed in between her brows. "There."

"Only that it's difficult to walk when you have a thousand eyes staring at you, judging you."

"They weren't judging you Val, they were admiring you."

"Admiring that the freak of Berk is stepping up in life?"

Stoick sighed. In one swift movement he flopped back onto the bed, pulling Valka down with him. She gasped quietly, giggling slightly as they laid side by side, their noses nearly touching.

"Valka, is that what you really think you are? A freak?"

"It's what everyone else-"

"No, no, no, I'm not talking about what everyone else thinks. What do _you_ think?"

Valka pondered it for a moment, before shaking her head: "No."

Stoick smiled. "There you go then. You might notice everything, but you don't _have_ to." His fingers slowly brushed down her cheek. "And besides, you'll have a month away from them."

"Then I'll only have your opinion to worry about."

Stoick's wide hand landed softly in the crook of her waist, pulling her closer.

"And you, my dear, could _never_ disappoint me."


	19. Duties

Valka stirred, feeling a strange sense of emptiness both inside and outside. Her long fingers reached, searched, yet found nothing. She frowned. Wearily, she creaked open one eye to find Stoick's side of the bed empty. With a short exhale of breath, she pushed herself up so that she was upright, and unleashed a full yawn. Through the crack beneath the door, Valka could see a faint orange light. She smiled sadly, shaking her head as she reached over for her robe.

Their time as honeymooners was coming to an end, and the villagers all knew that.

Tiptoeing, Valka crept down the steps to find her husband slouched over, rolling a pencil up and down his work desk. He looked so young, so boyish sitting there like that; she could imagine a ten year old Stoick bored with his lessons, fiddling with his pencil, finding it far more interesting than whatever work lay before him. His eyes were half closed in a dazed, dreamlike glance. He didn't even stir when Valka approached him.

"Couldn't sleep," he mumbled into his arm. "These were outside."

Valka fingered through the various papers: letters of well wishes, letters of complaints, news from far away, and news from just next door. Sitting just on top was a list of the newest students for dragon training: Ack, Starkard, and Una.

She frowned. "Training won't start for a while, right?"

Stoick nodded. "Summer. Early recruits."

"Eager parents or eager kids?"

Stoick yawned, "Both."

Valka rubbed the back of his neck, "You need sleep my love."

"Can't sleep."

"You said 'couldn't' before."

"Can't, couldn't…shouldn't…"

"Stoick…"

Four more days. Four more days and their little bubble of paradise would be lost to the chaos beyond their four walls. Stoick had assured her that he wouldn't forsake her for his duties, as chiefs of the past had been known to do…but if forsaking her meant that he wasn't an exhausted mess, then Valka believed she could manage.

"Here, have you looked through these?"

She sat down beside him, rustling through a stack of papers.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping, obviously."

"It's not your job,"

"I'm making it my job."

Stoick rolled his eyes. "Stubborn woman."

"You love me anyway."

"You're damn right I do."

She pressed a kiss against his cheek. "This one is from Mildew-"

Stoick groaned, "Toss it."

"You can't just 'toss it,' it might be important."

"It's either a stupid complaint, a stupid request, or a stupid comment. I get at least one a week from the crank, and I've been enjoying my time away from him. Toss it."

Valka crumpled the parchment up into a ball, but she did not give Stoick the pleasure of throwing it. She tossed it over her shoulder, smirking as Stoick pursed his lips in disappointment. With a wink, she moved on to the next letter.

"Let's see, a letter from Chief Mo, a letter from Bertha, trade requests from Johann….oh Oswald's wife is expecting again!"

Stoick grumbled against his arm.

"They have a little boy right?"

"Aye, Dagur…bit of a terror from what I've heard."

"Well, so was Oswald."

"So was I."

"Must be all of your raw vikingness."

"Both of my parents were warriors, and their parents were all warriors…it runs in the family."

Valka murmured, pressing her lips together thinly.

"Line," Stoick warned. Valka rolled her eyes. It had become a habit for Stoick to point out whenever Valka's forehead formed that telltale line of worry. Even in the confines of their home, it emerged a lot. "What are you thinking?"

"That I'm the furthest from Viking you could get. The chief's child is supposed to be…well…" she gestured broadly in Stoick's direction.

"You gestured to all of me…"

"And not like," she waved her hands in front of her.

"And now you're gesturing to yourself…come on Val, words."

She huffed. "The child of the chief is supposed to be the essence of Vikings personified:, strong, er…sturdy. Your parents were those things… your grandparents were those things…you certainly are those things, but I'm…not."

Stoick blinked up at her, his eyes nearly yellow in the flickering firelight. Suddenly, he grabbed her waist and spun so that way she was on his lap, facing him.

"My tastes are not that simple, Valka. I prefer my women mentally strong."

"But any child I give you-"

"Will be yours. Does anything else matter?"

Valka lowered her head. Stoick bumped his nose against her, nuzzling her.

"Hey... tiny or massive, short or tall, skinny or sturdy…as long as they're ours I don't care about the accessories. Trust me Val, I've learned that looks can be deceiving. You're deadly with that staff of yours despite being as lithe as a willow branch. Fisk, as big as he is, shrinks away from battle. Gobber is missing an arm and a leg and still is one of the first into battle…"

"But they're not your _heir,_ Stoick."

At the word heir, Stoick shivered.

"I grew up hearing that word, knowing what it meant. Some days I felt more like an inheritance than a child…it…it was a heavy burden." His eyes, so clear and green, bore into hers as his thumb curved along the point of her chin. "I want children with you to _have_ children with _you_ Val…not for an heir or a legacy. I'm not planning on going anywhere any time soon. Okay?"

Valka nodded, her eyes heavy with worry.

"Why are you even thinking about this?" His eyes suddenly grew wide. "You're not-"

"What? No…no…gods Sto," Valka suddenly felt exposed and flustered. "It would be too early to tell anyway. But it's part of the job description isn't it? Being the chief's wife."

"Wife," Stoick emphasized. "Take the chief part out of it."

"Kind of hard to," she nodded towards the papers. "But I've signed on for life, and I intend to fulfill my duties," she eyed him thoughtfully. " _All_ of them."

Stoick's brows raised curiously. "And what will your first duty be then, my dear?"

Valka leaned towards his expectant lips, but instead gave her attention to the stack of notices.

"Well first, I'm going to help my husband sort through his work so that he is able to get some sleep tonight," she grinned over her shoulder. "Or not."

Stoick chuckled, low in his throat as his hands wrapped tightly around her waist. "As my lady chief commands."


	20. Growing Pains

"Val…hey…Val?" Stoick's voice came from over top her ear. His hand nudged her shoulder, gently in touch but firm in motion. Valka grumbled, searching for the bed sheet, knowing that Stoick had probably stolen it during the night. To her surprise she was already covered, the material hiding her nakedness. Cracking open one eye, she saw that Stoick was already up and dressed.

"Sto? What's wrong?"

"Nothing darling…but it's the end of our month."

The news was unwelcome. Valka woke up immediately.

"So you're leaving."

"Out of necessity…not because I want to, because believe me, I _don't_ want to." His hand moved up into the soft feathery waves of Valka's hair. She shivered.

"What time is it?"

"Just before dawn."

"Do you always leave so early?"

"Some days…some days even earlier." He sighed. "I would stay, but with a month away…"

"I know…will I see you?"

"I'll be around…the docks, the ring, Mead Hall…"

"Dinner?"

"Er…" Stoick looked askance. Valka smirked.

"I'll meet you at the hall tonight." She pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "Go be you."

"Hmm," Stoick tried to lengthen their kiss, but Valka had coyly pulled away.

"If I must," he exhaled. "I'll see you at dinner, I promise."

With one final peck on her temple, the great Chief slipped out of their bedroom and down the steps into the world Valka must share him with.

Their great bed was empty, too empty without him. If Valka had grown with a bed this big she never would have left it: she could stretch her limbs as far as she could, sleep in any position she pleased. But now that she had grown accustomed to sharing it, she wished for a smaller cot to spend her solitude in.

With the blanket draped around her, Valka rose and tiptoed over to the window. The sky was still dark, with a tinge of pink and orange on the horizon. She shivered as she touched the pane. She had barely had to go outside at all in the past month: Stoick did not want for anything. She could think of three, maybe four times that she had stepped outside, usually to retrieve a package that had been left on their doorstep, or to investigate a noise. Stoick had a great wooden tub for wash day…and it had been quite convenient for the two newlyweds.

Valka smiled. Despite her lonesomeness, she was eager to feel the sunshine on her skin. She would have to reteach herself how to talk to people who weren't Stoick. No one else, save for her mother, would understand her humor, her dry wit.

"Mium," she whispered, feeling heartsick suddenly. Oh how she had missed her mother! She must see her today, and Lundy, and Spitelout…she'd even settle for seeing Odina or Solfrid! Even crass Hilly and sour Phlegma seemed like good companions today.

Valka hurried over to her stash of clothes…none of which were particularly worn. She settled on a simple burgundy skirt and pale yellow blouse, complete with a fur vest that Stoick had gifted to her. The trickiest part of the day would be to decide on her marriage braids.

Her first task was to brush out the long strands: a painful feat given Valka's new perpetual bedhead. It took nearly an hour, but she managed to brush out all of the tangles. Glancing in her beloved mirror, Valka first tried two twisted braids on either side of her head…only to burst out laughing at her ridiculous reflection. She had _far_ too much hair for that look!

Next, she tried her mother's simple braided kIt'not at the nape of her neck…but Valka felt that it was too plain for her, and far too tight. Odina wore her hair in a braided crown, but that did not please the picky bride. Lundy kept her hair in two looped braids, but that made Valka feel more like a girl instead of a wife.

She frowned.

With a steady hand, Valka brushed the bulk of her hair into one thick braid down her back. Then, she braided the side pieces she had left free, before twisting them around the main braid. Deceptively simple, Valka admired her handiwork. Her mother and the other women might protest, but Valka could not care less. She was the wife of the chief after all, and besides, Stoick loved her braids.

Satisfied with her appearance, Valka trotted downstairs to greet the world…only for Gothi to already be standing at her threshold.

"Gothi!" Valka squeaked, jumping back. "Uh, er…good morning?"

The elder grunted, limping in, leaning on her staff. On her heels was a beaming, radiant Lundy.

"Valk!" Lundy crushed Valka in a bear hug. "Oh I've missed you!"

Stunned, Valka weakly returned the embrace. "I uh…missed you too."

They held each other at arm's length. Lundy's face had grown fuller, but she was dressed in layers too thick to reveal any evidence of her pregnancy.

"I'm only three months along," she rolled her eyes. "Unless I'm naked, you can't tell."

"I'll take your word for it." Valka smirked, eyes falling on Gothi. "Um…why?"

Lundy tactfully shut the door before squealing: "To see if you are with child!"

The color drained from Valka's face.

"It's only been a month?"

"A _honeymoon_ month…" Lundy winked. "Trust me, I know."

"And _I_ would rather not," Valka jumped as Gothi's bony hand entwined around her arm. "Wouldn't it still be too early to tell?"

"Not according to Gothi. Just let her examine you. Five minutes, I promise."

* * *

The examination took well over an hour. To Gothi's disappointment, Valka was _not_ pregnant.

"I told you," Valka said firmly.

Lundy held the door open for Gothi. "Well, you're still newlyweds. It shouldn't take long."

"You have a lot of faith in me then," Valka straightened her skirt, shivering from the memory of the invasive tests. "Can I leave my house now, please?"

"Alright…but you know the question that's on everyone's mind…"

"No, I only know the question on _my_ mind: what's for breakfast?"

Lundy and Valka reached the top of the steps, arriving at the hall to be greeted by a throng of Vikings. Congratulations were shouted and murmured, as well as a few well-meaning, but still unwanted kisses from Berk's ladies. Valka glanced around: no sign of her husband, or her mother for that matter.

Odd.

"Welcome back to reality," a silky voice said from behind her.

"Hey Odina," Valka gave her a smile. The icy Valkyrie didn't look any different, she was still as trim and fierce as ever. She was soon swept into the circle of girls that had become her familiars: Solfrid, Hilly, Phlegma, Odina, and Lundy. Valka found it odd that she had actually _missed_ their companionship.

"How is married life?" Solfrid asked sweetly.

"Yeah tell us!" Hilly cackled.

Valka shook her head. "Maybe when Buffnut Thorston asks you, I'll tell you Hilly."

"Hah! He already has!"

Valka blushed, "That's new. Congratulations."

"Yeah, he asked me with a mouthful of mutton. He's perfect."

Solfrid rolled her eyes and mouthed: "Low standards."

Valka couldn't hide her giggles, "How are you doing Solfrid? Have you decided on a day?"

"After the harvest: Fisk has a big family and we're going to need all of the food we can get."

"Hopefully this one," Lundy stroke her invisible belly, "Will make his appearance before then."

"You still think it's a boy?" Phlegma asked.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Because it could be a _girl_?"

"Every mother wants her firstborn to be a boy."

"Girls are just as good as boys…better even."

"Damn right," Odina grinned at the young shield maiden.

"Well…Spite wants a boy…to carry on the Jorgenson name." Lundy eyed Valka sadly.

"Another 'Lout'?" Odina smirked.

"It's tradition," both Valka and Lundy said defensively.

"I would have been a 'Lout' if I had been a boy," Valka muttered.

"Boys get weird names," Phlegma pointed out.

"Keeps trolls away," Solfrid noted.

"Well I am going to keep my family's tradition," Lundy said proudly. "A 'Lout' my son shall be!"

"Ugh!" Hilly groaned, laying her head down on the table. "I just realized…the Thorston's name their kids all 'Nuts.'"

The girls all giggled. Lundy beamed. "See, 'Lout's' not that bad now is it?"

* * *

Full and satisfied with her breakfast, Valka skipped down the towering steps and made her way towards her mother's house. The girls had chosen to remain behind to gossip some more, but Valka could no longer stand the separation between her and her mother. She said her goodbyes and, with her head held high, parading through the village.

"Morning Mrs. Chief," someone called.

"Lady Haddock!"

"Mrs. Haddock."

The friendly calls unnerved Valka…months ago hardly any one spoke to her. She tried her best to smile and wave, only to feel self-conscious. She should be humble, respectable…not brazen.

 _Ugh, Stoick didn't prepare me for_ this, she thought bitterly.

Valka knocked on the door, feeling silly for doing so. Not so long ago it was her house that she shared with the other single women, but now she was a guest standing awkwardly at the door.

No one answered. Valka knocked again.

"Mum?"

The door was unlocked. Timidly, Valka entered.

"Mum…?" she called again, taking care to wipe her boots. There was a fire in the hearth yet no one was around. Valka grew tense.

"Mum? Mum!" She raced back to her mother's bedroom, only to find the bed made in its usual tidy fashion. She checked the other bedrooms: Phlegma and Solfrid's, Hilly's…only to find them in a near identical state of cleanliness.

Valka's heart was racing. It was not like her mother to be out of the house without company. Perhaps she had journeyed over to the Chief— _her_ house? Yes, that must be it. Valka hurried back towards the door-

"Oof!"

Only to collide with her elusive mother.

"Vally!" Ursula stood over her, a basket at her hip, her other hand drawn up to her mouth in a gasp. "Gods above darling, you nearly scared me to death."

Valka was seeing tiny dragons in her vision. She groaned, "Haimum."

With a roll of her eyes, Ursula reached down to help her daughter to her feet. Valka wobbled for a moment, before she was pinned in place by her mother's crushing hug.

"What are you doing out so early?" Ursula ushered her daughter back inside.

"Early? Mum it's been a month."

"Oh, has it?" Her mother's eyes narrowed in thought. "I guess it has…huh. Well had I remembered that I would have stayed home this morning, but I went over to Tonna Thomasson's to trade some rolls for a jar of jam…I still have a dozen or so rolls left. Would you like one?"

Valka's heart had finally decelerated enough for coherent talking.

"No thanks mum, I just came from the hall. Big breakfast."

"Ah, well, you don't mind if I help myself do you?"

"Your house, your stomach."

Ursula beamed at her daughter. "Go on and sit. I'll fix myself a nibble and be right with you." Valka obeyed, sitting on a tattered old chair by the fire. Her mother rummaged through the kitchen humming all the while. Every so often Ursula would cough, loud enough to startle Valka.

"You still have that cough?"

"It comes and goes. You caught me on a bad day."

"Maybe you should see Gothi…"

"So she can tell me I have too much water in my body and that I need to move away from the sea again? Last time I checked we live on an island…no thank you."

"But you sound worse…"

Ursula sat down across from her, a biscuit in her hand.

"It's drafty in here. I keep asking your brother to come patch things up but he's too busy being Stoick's second hand man." At the mention of Stoick, Ursula smiled. "How is your husband?"

Valka blushed. "Incredible…but he'll probably work himself to death."

"Ever wonder why Frey was called 'the Grey?'" Ursula pointed to her hair and mouthed: "early."

"As long as he's alive I don't care what color his hair is; it could turn purple for all I care."

Ursula hummed. "You survived your first month of marriage. Argument free?"

Valka considered it. "I believe so…well…"

She shuddered, thinking back to the brief, incredibly brief spat they had had about halfway through. Valka had been sitting at the table, absentmindedly sketching on a spare piece of paper. She hadn't even been paying much attention to her artwork, she had been watching Stoick as he went about on household chores, things he insisted that Valka leave for him. When he came back from hauling in firewood, he had pecked her head and glanced down at her sketch.

 _"A dragon?"_

 _Valka had looked: she had drawn a sleeping Terror, curled up in an almost endearing way._

 _"I think they're fun to draw," she had admitted. "Almost…cute."_

 _"Cute? Val…" he had sat down beside her, hand over hers, ceasing her sketching. "You've got to get that idea out of your head, any of those ideas about dragons. What happened the night of the Battle…with the dragons in the ring…that was a fluke. Any other time they would have slaughtered you on sight."_

 _"Like we slaughter them on sight?"_

 _He had exhaled heavily through his nose. "I am not having this discussion with you now…"_

 _"Fine by me," she had stood abruptly, swiping her drawing up before he could snatch it._

 _"I don't care that you're not a warrior, that you don't want to kill dragons…but gods help me Valka, if you go out and start saying that dragon's aren't a threat-"_

 _"I am not saying that they're not a threat Stoick!" Her voice had erupted from her throat. "All I'm saying is that I think there's more to them than just fire and teeth! Have you ever even looked at one before chopping its head off?"_

 _"Enough…"_

 _"Fine. Keep being boar-headed. I am laying down for a nap."_

 _He had sighed, long and low, before saying: "Sleep well."_

That had been the end of it, the entire disagreement no long than two minutes. Valka had indeed fallen asleep, and had woken up with Stoick beside her, his nose buried in her hair. They had made no mention of their argument, and things had continued on as normal.

"Couples fight Vally, it's normal," the touch of her mother's hand brought her out of her mind.

"I know mum."

"And knowing Stoick he couldn't stay mad at you for long."

Valka giggled. "You think so?"

"The way he looks at you? Oh darling, you have him wrapped around your finger."

They smiled at one another, the mother and daughter duo. Valka hadn't realized how terribly she had missed her mother, how she had yearned for her comforting presence. She wished that the house had a bench or a couch so that Valka could sit beside her mother and rest her head on her shoulder.

"Your hair isn't up."

"I tried about a dozen different styles-"

"But it's supposed to be up. You're married now Valka."

"It's not loose-"

"It doesn't look any different from how you wore it before."

"Sure it is, look!"

Valka turned her head so that her mother could see the tiny braids woven into the main braid.

Ursula sighed. "Alright I suppose you can get away with it…but that may be too time consuming when the little ones come."

"MUM!"

Her mother shrugged her shoulders innocently, "Lundy became pregnant right away…I was pregnant with you before I was even married…"

"Thanks for the reminder…"

"Did Gothi examine you?"

"Yeah, she did," Valka frowned. "No one warned me about _that_."

"It's only because you're the Chief's wife. Everyone is expecting an heir."

"Even you?"

Ursula smiled sadly. "I just want my daughter to be happy in her marriage. Any grandchildren I receive from that marriage will be proof of that happiness," she paused a moment. "Are you?"

"No."

"Well it's still early, and a woman's body is full of secrets."

"Have you been this personal with Lundy?"

"Nah, she has her own mother to pester her."

Valka snickered. "I imagine it'll only be worse if it's ever my turn."

"Oh my dear, I'm not the one you'll have to worry about…it's every other woman on this island."

* * *

Valka sat slumped over in her arm chair, her eyelids heavy with the desire for sleep. It was after midnight by her estimation, a quiet winter's eve. Flurries had started to fall earlier in the evening, though she had no doubt that they had accumulated into a healthy coating of snow. She shivered, drawing her blanket closer around her shoulders. The fire had died in her dozing, and Valka had not the energy nor the desire to reignite it. Her stomach rumbled with hunger, but she did not make a move to eat.

Their first day after their honeymoon, and already Stoick had broken a promise.

 _Maybe something came up,_ she chastised herself. _He's the Chief. He's needed._

But it was already tomorrow, and Stoick hadn't come home.

She had sat at the Chief's table, grinning like a fool as she jumped every time the massive doors opened. Couples, families, and individuals had sauntered in, took their places, and enjoyed the prepared supper, yet Valka had remained still and uncertain in her seat. She told herself to wait for Stoick, to not eat without him…but the minutes had turned to hours. The kitchens had closed for the evening, and it wasn't until the torches were extinguished that Valka had surrendered to the truth and made the lonely trek home.

Throughout it all she had not cried, despite the ache in her heart.

She had told herself that she would be able to manage without him if need be, she had just not expected that need to arrive so _soon_.

 _You can do this Val,_ she told herself as she rose from her chair.

 _You can do this,_ she told herself as she slumped up the stairs.

 _You can do this,_ she told herself as she changed into her nightdress.

 _You can do this,_ she told herself as she laid down in their cold bed.

But Valka knew the truth: there was a fine line between being able to do something, and wanting to do it…and as she cried herself to sleep, she realized she was incapable of doing either.

* * *

When dawn broke, Valka was still alone.

She knew he had never come home: the sheets were ice cold on his side of the bed.

Rubbing the sleep and the remnants of her tears from her eyes, Valka sat up and stretched. Her stomach was groaning in protest, desperate for food. Though Valka wanted to remain in bed and sulk, she got up and got dressed, feeling lightheaded and groggy.

Stumbling into her boots, Valka made her way downstairs, hugging the wall as she descended for balance. Her mother had sent her home with some biscuits and jam, she supposed that would be a suitable breakfast.

Right as she turned into the great, dark room, someone called her name.

"Valka-?"

She screamed, nearly leaping back up the steps. Eyes unadjusted to the dimness, she could not see the interloper, but she knew the voice immediately.

"Stoick?"

Rustling came from the chairs. Yes, she could see Stoick now, standing stiffly, a blanket draped over his body.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

She stiffened, "It's fine."

"I came home and you were sound asleep in bed. I didn't want to disturb you."

"What time did you come home?"

"Two hours ago…? Yeah, just about then I guess."

Valka nodded, her lips pressed together in a firm line. "Hungry?"

"I could eat, yeah."

She marched to the kitchen, feeling the tension grow as soon as she opened a cupboard. She wanted to roll her eyes, insist that she was not cooking, but held her tongue. She unwrapped her mother's biscuits and the tin of berry jam and smothered them until they were more purple than brown.

She brought them over on a plate and sat down, stuffing one into her mouth before he could ask.

With a sigh, Stoick nibbled on one.

"I'm sorry I missed dinner last night," he muttered.

"S'fine," Valka replied with a full mouth.

"I feel awful about it."

"Hm."

"I wish I could say I had a reason, but I don't. I'm not used to all…this," he waved his hand vaguely. "I put things on hold for a month, and I come back and it's like I never left."

"Nice to know I'm so memorable…"

"Val, no. It's not that, it's-" he exhaled sharply. "My mum died when I was a boy; I've been training to be Chief since I was ten. With my dad, it was nonstop duty. I never really found a balance. It's not like my dad had a wife to come home to, I was all he had and if he took me to meetings and councils that was parenting to him. There's never been an in-between in my life.

'The past month has been…incredible. Gods, you have no idea how…complete I feel with you…but I never had to balance things like this before. It's new to me. Last night I just got lost somehow, and when I came to my senses the hall had closed and you were here in bed."

The morning sunlight had begun to creep in through the windows. Valka could see the shadows beneath his eyes, the lines in his forehead that seemed to have appeared overnight.

"You really hurt me last night," she whispered coolly.

"I know I did, and I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you that right away but you looked so peaceful, so beautiful…it felt like if I woke you I would have had your wrath and Odin's wrath to deal with."

Valka felt her cheeks turn hot. Damn him for his sentimental integrity.

"Well, I'm still mad at you."

"You have every right to be. Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

Valka considered his offer. She smirked.

"I haven't trained in a while…Might be getting rusty."

Stoick grinned a crooked, boyish grin, "I think I can manage that."


	21. Oy, Oy, Oy

Valka lay back in the sweet summer grass. She had never seen a sky so clear and blue before. Their summer months had been peaceful and pleasant…a miracle in Valka's eyes. Heyannir was here, marking midsummer. The days were long and hot. Valka could feel her skin freckling and smiled: how she loved sunshine.

Flopping over onto her belly, Valka came face to face with a sheep. It chewed noisily in her face, its eyes blank and bored. Valka stuck out her tongue in jest, but the sheep simply continued its munching.

"Not up for a conversation are you?" She asked, leaning on her palm. She hadn't had a decent conversation in days: Stoick had taken a band of Vikings out on a voyage to try to pinpoint the location of Helheim's Gate. He had been gone for two weeks, sailing gods know where. Spitelout had insisted he come, but with Lundy entering her final days of pregnancy, Stoick had ordered him to stay put.

 _"Your wife will never forgive you if you're not there,"_ he had told him _._

Begrudgingly, Spite had listened.

Valka didn't mind talking about the soon to arrive Jorgenson, but it was all _anyone_ could talk about. Even her mother had become completely engrossed, to the point where she was butting heads with Lundy's mother, Ragna.

She missed Stoick: she missed talking with him late at night, their quiet little moments, even their arguments.

Although Valka had to admit, it was nice to not have to listen to him chastise her views on dragons.

She had tried to convince him to cancel the voyage, to no avail.

 _"The dragons haven't attacked for months! You're just looking for a fight!"_

 _"I'm not going to sit here and wait for them to make the first move Valka!"_

 _"You're putting everyone at risk-"_

 _"If it ends the war it'll be worth it."_

He was impossibly stubborn, more immovable than that boulder he supposedly broke into two.

Valka sighed, turning onto her back once more. The sheep interloper had meandered off to join his fellow herd mates. She supposed she ought to go check in on Lundy, but being out here in the fields of Berk made it difficult to leave.

"The sooner you check on her, the sooner you can leave," she told herself, forcing herself up.

But it was not to be.

* * *

"Valka! Hey, Valka!"

Odina trotted up behind Valka as she made her way towards the Jorgenson residence. She was dressed simply, her face flushed with excitement: she looked almost cheerful.

"Oh, hey Odina. Are you going to check on Lundy?"

"I just ran home to change. She's been having pains all morning. We think the baby will be here by nightfall!" Odina was absolutely delighted. She was practically bouncing. "You coming?"

Valka smiled, "Of course I am!"

* * *

For every ounce of cheer Odina possessed, Lundy possessed twice that amount of rage.

"I _never_ want to do this again!" She grunted, pausing her pacing to ride another wave of agony.

"You've heard mothers say that before dear, and look at them now," Ragna soothed her daughter by stroking her raven hair. "Five babies later, then they say they're done."

"Not me, one and done,"

Valka gave a weak smile as Lundy caught her eye. She had been busying herself by untying every knot in the house: from apron strings to necklaces, and all of the coils in their hair.

"You're not even halfway there yet Lundy," Ragna continued.

"Certainly feels like I am!"

Ragna and Ursula glanced at one another worriedly. Ragna sighed.

"Alright, we'll check you again. Relax yourself."

To Lundy's dismay, she was barely more than halfway through her labor. She began to sob.

In the attempts to console her, Ursula approached Valka calmly.

"Why don't you find your brother? Give him an update, tell him not to wander too far."

"Do you think it'll be soon?"

"No way to tell, but if she's this miserable now…" she smirked. "Just go and warn him."

Valka darted out of the house, slightly embarrassed at her loose hair. Word must have spread by now, so everyone glanced at Valka expectantly. Valka could only say, "not yet," as she continued her search for her brother.

* * *

She found him in the ring.

"Una! Throw the damn knife already!"

Little Una Underwood trembled where she stood, knife in hand as she faced a target. Starkard and Ack stood behind Spitelout, both in awe and in fear of the mighty Jorgenson before them. Spitelout, after all, was still a legend in Berk's arena for his pageantry in his final exam.

"I-I can't…" Una sputtered. Starkard laughed, but Ack elbowed him in the ribs.

"Thor damn it girl!" Spite grabbed the knife out of her hand and hurled it at the target for a slightly off center bullseye. Starkard clapped his hands boisterously, but Ack remained solemn.

Una sobbed even harder.

"Quit your crying! If you aren't going to learn then you're going to leave in disgrace!"

"Spitelout Jorgenson!"

Valka, hands like vices on her hips, stomped her way into the ring. Immediately, the three teens straightened up, though Una still had tears in her light eyes.

"Is this your idea of teaching?"

"I didn't ask for this job!" Spitelout huffed, yanking the knife out of the target.

"I'm surprised they actually gave it to you willingly, considering what a terrible job you're doing."

She turned towards Una, a short girl for her age but pleasantly plump, with thick dark hair and large dark eyes. Pretty, but frightened.

"Are you okay Una?"

"Y-yes, Mrs. Chief."

Valka smiled, "Please, call me Valka."

Una nodded, still uncertain. Valka could sense the flight in her eyes.

"I'm sorry my brother here is being such a jerk to you. Do you not like throwing knives?"

"N-n-no…"

"She doesn't like doing _anything_!" Starkard hollered impatiently.

Una's cheeks turned crimson. Valka thought she saw the girl look timidly over at Ack, but only very briefly. Valka smiled and announced: "Class is dismissed for today-"

"What?!" Starkard moaned.

"You can't do that!" Spitelout growled irritably.

"I'm the Chief's wife, and considering that you are soon going to be indisposed…"

At that, Spitelout paled. He blinked, once, twice, before scowling.

"Get out of here runts, class dismissed!"

The three teens scrambled out of the arena. Una gave Valka a tiny, gracious wave.

Without an audience, Spitelout softened. The change was instantaneous.

"Is she…"

"She's okay Spite, for a laboring woman," Valka helped Smitelout put the training supplies into the cart. "She's using some words I've never heard come out of her mouth."

Spitelout chuckled weakly. Valka frowned.

"You can talk to me Spite. I may be Stoick's wife but I'm still your sister, and I can still tell when something is bothering you."

"Oh…there's a lot bothering me," Spitelout slammed the target into the cart. "Having to deal with those three idiots, Stoick and half of the other warriors being gone while I'm stuck here, Mum's cough-"

"That's _not_ what I meant Spite and you know it." She danced around him in an attempt to catch his gaze. "You're worried about Lundy, because of what happened to your mother."

"I don't know what you're talking about-"

"Oh come on! Stop being so dense."

"I'm not being dense Valka, now stop it."

"Not until you talk to me-"

"Leave it-"

"Spite-"

"FINE!" he snapped, slamming the gate to the arena shut. Valka could hear the dragons warbling in their pens. Her heart ached for them as well for her brother.

"I was two when my mother died, okay? I don't even remember her, what she looked like, what she sounded like, even what she smelled like. My wife is about ready to go through the same thing that killed my mother and there is _nothing_ I can do!" His eyes glistened, "If something happens to her, I'm a goner Valka. I'm lost without her. I want my child, our child, to know her mother, the way I never got to know mine. I've been able to put on a brave face for nine months but I can't anymore Val, I just can't!"

He slumped to the ground, head in his hands. Valka had never seen him like this before.

"Hey…Spite…it's going to be okay," she knelt down beside him. " _She's_ going to be okay."

"You don't know that."

"I also know that Lundy's a lot tougher than she looks."

"So was my mother…"

"Look," now she sat beside him, hand on his shoulder. "We've done everything we can so far, every bit of superstitious ritual. The gods are on our side today, even the weather is fortuitous. The only thing that any of us can do now is be there for her and help her," she paused in thought. "Is that why you've been out here?"

Spitelout nodded weakly. "I couldn't…if something happened I-"

"Should be there, no matter if it's something good or something bad. Lundy _needs_ you."

Spitelout shook his head, unconvinced.

Valka smiled sweetly, remembering something.

"Did you say ' _her_ mother?'?"

"Huh?" He blinked, before barely cracking a small smile. "Oh, yeah. I think it's a girl."

"Really? I had thought you would have wanted a boy."

"I mean, in the future maybe…I don't know. Boys just seem to have all these expectations put on them, in there…" He gestured broadly to the arena behind them. "And I guess I got used to having a girl around," he nudged her. "Between you and Mum and Lundy…but she's convinced it's a boy."

"I guess you'll find out soon enough huh?"

Her brother gulped, the tension still visible in his jaw. "Yeah. I guess so."

* * *

"I SWEAR TO THOR I AM _NEVER_ LETTING YOU TOUCH ME AGAIN!"

Spitelout had barely stepped foot in the door before Lundy began her tirade. Frozen where he stood, Spite glanced at Valka in fright, but his sister nudged him further in.

"She's been yelling at everyone. Just stay clear of her hands."

Lundy had been stripped of her clothes and was leaning against the post of their bed. Women surrounded her, giving her quiet words of encouragement as nature took its course: Lundy was nearing the end.

"Spite, get over here and hold your wife," Ursula instructed firmly, wiping her hands on a rag. Spitelout found movement in his feet once more, and gingerly placed his hands exactly where Lundy wanted them…so much for her not wanting him to touch her.

"We're almost there, should be soon," Ursula whispered to Valka.

"Is she…?"

"So far so good. Everything is progressing normally-"

"Oh my gods, oh my gods, ow ow ow ow!"

"Ursula! Quick! Bring more cloths!" Ragna called from her daughter's side. "Odina, water!"

No one addressed Valka: she stood there in the midst of the chaos, the eye of a vortex in which she was rendered powerless. Time seemed to slow down: Lundy opened her mouth to wail, yet Valka could hear nothing. Her mother tore more shreds of cloth, though the rips were muted. Valka could only stand and observe the haunting beauty of the scene, observe the peculiar tenderness in which Spitelout held Lundy. She had never seen him so gentle, so affectionate. He lowered his face down right before hers, the tips of their nose brushing against one another's. Lundy even managed a brief smile as he whispered something to her. The gleam in his eye was enough to melt a thousand frozen hearts.

Valka's heart ached for Stoick.

"Thatta girl Lund! One more push now!"

Lundy groaned once more, before her body recoiled away from the release of the squalling baby in her mother's arms.

"It's a boy!" Ragna cried, her grin as wide as her face.

Lundy wept not with exhaustion but with tears of joy. Carefully, she was laid back onto the bed, Spitelout behind her, never letting her go. Ragna swaddled the babe and pressed him into Lundy's awaiting arms.

"A boy, oh my little boy!" Lundy kissed the forehead of the red face babe, her cheeks glistening with tears that refused to let up.

To Valka's amazement, Spitelout too was crying.

"I love you Lundy," he sputtered, kissing his wife's temple. "I love you. Oh gods, thank you."

* * *

"No wonder you were in such pain," Odina leaned over top Lundy's shoulder, her finger brushing against the baby's cheek. He stirred, but did not cry and did not wake. "That's some head he has there."

"He's going to be a smart one," Lundy beamed. "It was worth it."

Mother and baby had been bathed and cleaned. Lundy wore a simple frock while her son remained in swaddling clothes. He had fed at her breast not once but twice, a sight to behold according to the other mothers. Spitelout had gone to the hall at Lundy's insistence: he had not wanted to leave her, but Lundy kindly shooed him away.

"I'm fine Spite," she had said. " _We're_ fine. Go on, celebrate. We'll be here."

"Have you thought of a 'Lout' name?" Odina smirked as the baby yawned, his tiny mouth puckering into a little "O."

"We have a few days. It'll be Spite's decision," she glanced up at Valka with tired eyes, "I had thought about Smitelout."

"Oh Lundy, you don't have to do that."

The baby fussed, whimpering softly. His lips pursed in a sucking motion.

"Again? Oh my love…" Lundy rolled her eyes, undoing her frock so that the baby could suckle.

"You alright Valka?" Odina asked suddenly. Valka had not realized she had been staring at the baby, her long finger stroking the downy dark hair at his crown.

"Huh? Oh…yeah, I'm fine. Just fine."

"The two of you," Lundy began, only to be interrupted by a yawn. "Sorry. The two of you need to have babies of your own, or else my little guy is going to be the only babe on Berk."

"Maybe when our husbands get home Lund," Odina chuckled. "Maybe."

Three new voices filled the tranquility of the house: Solfried, Hilly, and Phlegma had arrived, along with Gothi, who hobbled in in silence. Solfried and Hilly squealed, while Phlegma nodded in approval.

Valka decided to take her leave. She gave Lundy a cautious embrace before pecking the baby—her dear, sweet nephew—on his head.

She managed to hold onto her tears until she got home. Once she reached the quiet solitude of her empty home, Valka fell against the door and wept.

She missed Stoick. Right now she wanted nothing more than his presence, his arms around her, his lingering kisses. The bed had grown far too cold, too big for her body. She would much rather have Stoick draped around her instead of blankets, to listen to his boisterous snores instead of the crickets chirping. Six months of marriage, and already Valka felt as if her entire world spun around the axis that was her husband.

Six months in, she considered, perhaps Lundy was right: perhaps it was time to try.

All she needed was Stoick to come home.


	22. Homecoming

**Snow days are a teacher's best friend! I'm enjoying all this free time for writing, and next week is my Spring Break! Expect lots of updates!**

 **XOXO**

* * *

Valka awoke to a gentle shoving on her shoulder. She turned over, still half asleep, though she could feel the smile spreading on her lips.

"You're home…" she said dreamily, her hand reaching, searching…only to find air.

"Valka," the voice was curt, not male but female. Her eyes snapping open, Valka found Solfrid standing over her, her hand still pressing against her shoulder.

Instinctively, Valka reached for the covers; she had been hoping to surprise her husband whenever he returned from his voyage. To her relief, she was fully covered by the quilt.

A horrifying thought filled her mind: "Lundy, the baby-"

"They're fine Val," Solfrid smiled tensely. Something was wrong: Valka had never seen the bubbly Solfrid so on edge. "But you need to get dressed, quickly."

"What is it?"

"They're home."

Valka felt like smiling: Stoick, home! Oh how she had missed him...but Solfrid looked askance, her lips pursed together as if to contain her words. She graciously turned around to give Valka privacy, but Valka found that she was trembling too much to dress.

Stoick.

Where was Stoick? Why hadn't he come?

"Hurry," Solfrid turned back around to help Valka into her shift dress. Valka reached for her hairbrush, but her companion snatched it away. "No time for your braids. Just tie your hair back."

Valka obeyed; she doubted she could hold a brush in her quivering hand anyway.

The moment her feet touched dirt, Valka set off at a sprint. She could hear Solfrid calling after her, could even hear her shuffling footsteps, but she did not stop. The torches were lit up the Hall, and so Valka directed herself there. The village was empty, no doubt all piled into the Hall to see what had happened. Was the war over then? The dragons eradicated? Had a new war against another tribe begun?

Was Stoick…

"Oh gods please," she croaked out in a whisper. _Tell me he's there, tell me he's alright_ …

She burst through the double doors, her chest heaving. Suddenly she was thirteen again, interrupting a gathering with news on her tongue, with hundreds of eyes staring her down. This time though, she did not have news, she was desperate for it.

Voices whispered as she walked in, trying to level her breathing. She passed by tables, groups crowded together sharing secrets. Fisk, Aron, and Buffnut had found a bench together, mugs of mead in their clutches. All three of them looked banged up but relatively okay; they nodded at her grimly as she walked by, but she could still not see Stoick.

"Valka!" Someone called her name, to her dismay another female voice. Bursting through the masses, she saw Una darting towards her. "Over this way-"

She did not let Una lead her, she did not let the crowd widen to let her through. She pushed and shoved and cursed out anyone in her way until finally she was able to break through.

Her husband laid motionless on a cot before a small fire.

"No!" She screeched, hands clawing at her face. Tears poured from her eyes; she felt nauseous and faint in a flood of grief. She would have fallen to the floor had someone not caught her: Spitelout.

"Valka," he began.

"No! No, no, no!" she banged against his chest.

"Listen Vally, shh just listen-"

"Oy! Can someone please tell her I'm not dead already?"

Her head popped up from her brother's grip: from the cot, Stoick stared at her, his grin sly and crooked.

"Hello my dear, sorry to wake—UMPH!"

"WHAT THE HEL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" Valka threw herself at him, her arms encompassing him though her words came out like spits of fire. "Was that some kind of a joke? Were you trying to be funny—WELL IT'S NOT FUNNY!" She growled at him, she kissed him, she cried over him. Stoick winced and chuckled, his hands reaching up to finger through her hair.

"I was just trying to get some sleep Val, I didn't think you'd be here so soon."

Valka palmed at her cheeks, wiping away the moisture. Her nose was a snotty mess.

"You've forgotten how fast I am," she whispered.

"Fast like a bird," he cupped her chin. Valka leaned forward, inadvertently shifting the cot. Stoick squinted his eyes, grunting in suppressed pain. It was then that Valka realized a blanket covered his bare chest. Hesitantly, she peeled it back to see a massive purple bruise across his abdomen. It was as if he had changed his skin tone; it was interrupted only by the fine red hairs on his chest and stomach.

She felt sick.

"What happened Sto?" she covered him back up, her voice trembling.

"A healthy serving of Gronckle tail," he said grimly. "Swung around and got me."

"You found the nest?"

Stoick's brows furrowed, "Not even close. We went too far north this time Val, but next time-"

"There's not going to _be_ a next time Stoick!" Valka found herself yelling. "Look at you!"

"I know what it looks like Val, but I'm fine!"

"It looks like if your belly weren't so fat you would have died in an instant!"

The Vikings that surrounded them began to snicker. Stoick's cheeks reddened.

"I'm not fat…" he muttered.

Valka could not help but smirk. "You've gained weight since our wedding, my love."

"Well it's certainly not from your cooking."

The crowd oohed in response. Now it was Valka's turn to blush.

"It might be because you have a wife who reminds you to eat three meals a day, since you couldn't handle that on your own now could you?"

The crowd oohed louder, leaning in in anticipation, as if they were spectators at the arena.

"I thought I married a girl, not my mother."

The Vikings erupted in a chorus of laughter. Valka huffed, rolling her eyes, but leaned in close.

"Oh, but your mother couldn't do _this_ now, could she?" She pressed her mouth to his in a deep, passionate kiss. Stoick responded by wrapping his arms around her, pulling her closer. The crowd stood silent; someone coughed awkwardly.

"Er…Chief?"

They broke apart. Stoick wore a sheepish grin, "I think I'd like to rest at home now."

* * *

"There," Valka came downstairs with pillows and quilts in her arms. Stoick was propped up at a low angle before the fire, already covered in blankets.

"I could have made it up the steps you know," he muttered.

"Oh I know, and you would have made yourself so exhausted you'd pass right out," she threw the pillows next to him and knelt down to create a makeshift bed. "And that would be boring for me, because I would very much like to talk to you."

"Then by all means my dear, my ears are yours."

Satisfied, Valka slunk down beside him, throwing a quilt over herself. She had only one pillow to Stoick's three, but she did not mind sharing. Besides, his shoulder was quite comfortable.

"Well, I guess I should tell you that you're an uncle," she began.

Stoick's face lit up. "A-ha! I knew it would happen when I was away. When was she-?"

" _He_ ," Valka corrected.

"Oh, when was _he_ born?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Lundy alright?"

"Oh she's completely besotted; so is Spite but he won't admit it."

"Good man. Have they decided on a name?"

"Not yet. I think they were waiting for you."

"I'll try to visit them tomorrow then," he said determinedly. "If my wife lets me."

"Your wife might not let you leave the house for a week," Valka threatened, "Now, tell me everything."

Stoick began the tale of his voyage. The Berkians had rendezvoused with Chief Mo of the Meatheads before sailing off to Helheim's Gate, or at least where they believed it to be. As Stoick had said before, they had traveled too far north, and ran afoul of a group of angry Gronckles. Several of their ships had been destroyed, and though the Vikings had retreated, the Gronckles had caught up with them days later. That was when Stoick had received his injury, and when another tragedy had befallen them.

"Mo is dead," he said sadly. "His ship capsized and sank. We tried to get to him but he was pinned under the mast. The water was too cold…"

"Oh gods," Valka whispered, sending a quick prayer to Valhalla. He had died in battle, like any Viking rightfully should.

"We had to regroup, but we drove the dragons off. I didn't know that Solfrid went to get you; I was going to send Gobber after we got settled in, but I guess she spotted us. Truthfully though, I was asleep when you came in…" he grinned wickedly, "You cried like a banshee."

"Well maybe I would have missed you a little," she huffed.

He raised his brow, "A little?"

"Or a lot."

"Hmm," he pressed a kiss to her temple. She giggled.

"Your beard is too long. It tickles."

"Oh you don't like it?"

"I didn't say I didn't like it…" she twirled the slight curl at the front. "Just need to get used to it."

Her deft fingers quickly created a little braid in his beard. When she finished she kissed the rounded tip of his nose and smiled, "I'm used to it."

"My beard is not your play thing you silly girl," Stoick chuckled, "Now I really should trim it…"

"Uh-uh, no way."

She moved to make another braid, but Stoick grasped her hands with a firm gentleness, hoisting them above her head. With a window framing her face, he leaned in for a kiss, which Valka playfully denied. He frowned, moving in once more, yet Valka dodged again. He huffed, pouting his lips, his grin returning only when Valka granted him the briefest of kisses.

"Gods I missed you," he held her to him, her cheek resting on his chest, her forehead wedged into the crook of his neck. He smelled of smoke and sea; she smelled like sweet summer grass and wildflowers. Together, the Haddocks smelled of Berk: they smelled of home.

"We're going to be busy," Stoick said gently, rousing Valka out of her contented state. "Hilly and Buff are going to be married in a few weeks, with Fisk and Solfrid close behind. Plus now we have a naming ceremony…oh and the graduation."

"No time for you to rest," Valka noted. "You'll be gone so much…"

"And you'll be with me," he insisted, "save for the graduation. I know you hate those."

Valka hummed in agreement, grateful for the excuse.

"Line," Stoick announced. "What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing much," Valka fibbed.

"You know I can tell when you're lying," he mumbled, "You blink a lot more."

Conscientious of her tell, Valka refused to blink until her eyes watered. Stoick laughed.

"Oh my dear, sweet, silly wife…whatever shall we do with you-"

"I want a baby."

Stoick stiffened beneath her, the air in his body hardening as his eyes widened. His irises danced around in his eyes, glancing everywhere except at her. His teeth raked across his bottom lip, as his eyebrows lowered and raised in his silent soliloquy.

Eventually, he exhaled, his breath carrying the word: "Huh?"

"You heard me,"

"Yes, yes I know I did Val…it's just…" his hands flew around vaguely, "Baby."

"Yep, a baby."

"I mean…wouldn't you rather…I don't know…a kitten?"

Valka snorted, "A kitten? What does that have to do with-" she paused, suddenly aware of the fear in Stoick's face. "You're frightened."

"Am not."

"Are too!" She pulled back slightly, agitated. "Months ago you said you wanted children to have children with me, are you taking that back now?"

"What? No, of course not. Gods Val I…" he shifted, wincing. "I just don't think I'm… _dad_ material."

"That's ridiculous Sto," Valka rolled her eyes. "Any man who can be Chief-"

"That's just it though: my father couldn't find a balance between the two. I told you before I always thought of myself as his heir first before his son. If I ended up doing that to my son…or my daughter…repeating the cycle-"

"But you wouldn't," Valka insisted. "You're already aware."

"I don't want to be my father-"

"You're not. You won't be," she held his head in her hands, suddenly regretting saying anything. "I'm sorry Stoick. I didn't think you would react like this. We can wait longer, it's okay."

His green eyes lifted up to hers, filled with a sudden intensity.

"Maybe I don't want to wait."

Valka felt her cheeks flaring, "Ohh…"

He kissed her then, slow and sweet, a kiss that left desire coursing through her veins.

"Though I um," Stoick cleared his throat, "I think we need to wait until I'm no longer purple."

Valka giggled, "Probably for the best, though maybe our babe will be born purple."

"As long as he has your eyes I don't care what color his skin is."

"A boy then? Are you taking requests?"

Stoick chuckled, nodding towards his shoulder for Valka to lay her head down.

"Right now my only request is that my wife lay down here next to me so that we can both sleep."

Valka happily obliged. Her long fingers stretched across his bare chest, brushing the faint, thin red strands hair that grew in patches over his torso. She wondered if their babe would be born with fiery hair like Stoick and smiled at the possibility. They seemed endless, and Valka was always up for a discovery.

"I'm so glad you're home," she whispered.

Stoick stayed silent, but his arm pulled her in closer.

Valka exhaled: she never wanted to sleep alone again.


	23. Rare Form

"They _had_ to bring the baby…" Phlegma growled besides Valka, her arms crossed over her chest. Valka glanced over inconspicuously to where Lundy was trying to soothe a screeching Snotlout, who had proven to be inconsolable. Before them, the wedding continued on as best as possible, though Valka could see Solfrid growing increasingly bewildered. He had been too young to come to Hilly and Buffnut's wedding, and now Valka was believing the same for this wedding.

 _Last wedding of the season,_ she thought with a sigh.

Still, she loved her nephew, who was the spitting image of Spitelout. His eyes had brightened into a clear blue, and his hair remained as dark as midnight. She wished they had considered a different name for him…though really it was all Stoick's fault. The day Stoick had first gone to visit the little family, the first time he had held his nephew, the baby had sneezed right in Stoick's face. It had not been a tiny newborn squeak of a sneeze either, but a gigantic sneeze that rattled both the baby and the onlookers.

"Ugh," Stoick had awkwardly handed him back to Lundy, "The little Lout's got a lot of snot in him."

Unfortunately Spitelout had heard Stoick, and insisted that his son's name be: Snotlout.

Snoutlout Jorgenson, heir to the Chiefdom of Berk.

Valka frowned; Stoick had made the decree after Snoutlout's naming ceremony.

"It's only until we have a babe of our own Val," he had clarified, "Spite is my second in command and, through our marriage, Snoutlout is my family."

She had begrudgingly accepted the announcement, and had tried to not feel as though Stoick had given up on the idea of having a child of their own. It had only been a few months after all, and Valka was not a quitter.

As if on cue, Stoick glanced over to his wife. He was standing besides Lassar, the same elder who had performed their own wedding ceremony, as both Chief and as Solfrid's patron. The latter was a duty he would no longer carry the moment the couple kissed as husband and wife.

He stared at Valka, quirking up an eyebrow in question. Valka shook her head: she was in a foul mood today. Her nephew's bawling was not helping things, nor was Phlegma's snide comments.

"That's your _sister,_ " Valka hissed as Phlegma snickered at Fisk's bumbling vows.

"And that's my brother-in-law now," she spat back. "Family ripe for teasing."

"You're impossible."

"And you care too much, lighten up."

Valka wanted to leave, but as she was in the first row of benches she could not discreetly escape. Ursula, who sat beside her, squeezed her hand reassuringly. Valka did not calm, but she did relax some.

She squeezed back in thanks.

Cheers erupted as Solfrid and Fisk kissed as husband and wife. Snoutlout, who had lowered his volume from screams to whimpering, exploded into shrieks once more at the noise of the crowd. This time, Lundy ushered him out of the gathering, with Ragna on her heels. The village breathed a collective sigh of relief at the sudden silence.

"I love my grandson dearly," Ursula beamed, "but I've had quite enough of his cries for one day."

* * *

"No, no, absolutely not!" Stoick had to hold Valka back. She had bared her teeth, her hands were clenched in fists of rage. "They are _not_ using _our_ song!"

"It's not _our_ song though Val," he picked her up around the waist, turning her around from the dance floor. "It was your parents."

"My father wrote it for my mother and _we_ added our own words," she squirmed in his grasp. "They have no right to use it!"

"It's just one song Valka-"

"But if they use it then others will use it and it'll never be _just ours_ ever again!"

"Odin above Val!" Stoick groaned, exasperated. "Fine, I'll ask them not to play it, but I think it's best if you go home."

"What? Go home? Why?"

"Because you're acting fouler than Gobber when his leg acts up," he lowered his voice. "Is it your moon time?"

"You're being ridiculous-"

"Valka _stop_!" He yanked her out of the hall, out onto the vestibule, away from curious onlookers. "I know your schedule by now, and you only act like this when your moon blood comes. I think you should go home, have a sweet, and rest a little. I won't be too much longer."

"Fine," Valka sniffed. "Whatever you want _Chief-_ "

"It's not what I want Val, but gods know you're making me _want_ it!"

They separated, each stomping off on their own path: Valka down the stairs and Stoick back into the hall. The music introducing their song had fortunately stopped, but Valka still felt bitter.

"Moon time," she kicked a pebble, sending it flying, "Again and again and again."

 _It won't happen right away,_ her mother had told her weeks ago. _Just keep trying_.

And they had, _gods_ they had. Valka felt her skin flush just at the thought of all their trying. Evenings, mornings, even afternoons when Stoick had been able to sneak away. Perhaps they have been trying too often, have been too desperate.

"It's only been a few months," she reminded herself, her pulse slowing. "Calm yourself."

"Valka?"

Lundy had spied her from her doorway. Snotlout was sleeping in his sling; Lundy must have been doing chores in an attempt to keep him pacified. She had been tossing out dirty water when she had spotted Valka "What are you doing out here?"

"Stoick sent me home," Valka deserted her path and approached the Jorgenson house. "Said I'm 'acting fouler than Gobber when his leg acts up,'" she imitated her husband's brogue.

"It's still weird how you can do that…" Lundy shivered, "But why? What's wrong?"

"Just in a bad mood Lunds; Stoick's convinced it's my moon time."

"Maybe you're just depressed," Lundy offered, "You know, with everything."

"It's only been a few months. I'm not depressed."

"Have you seen Gothi?"

Remembering the invasive prodding the day her honeymoon month ended, Valka recoiled.

"No. I don't need to see Gothi."

"She could help…"

"Sure, a creepy old lady who never talks? That's a lot of help."

Lundy smirked, "You are in rare form today Vally. Come inside for a bit huh? I could use some adult company now that this one's asleep," she gestured to the sleeping babe.

Valka, still irritated with Stoick and his insensitive instructions, crossed the threshold into her brother's house. The house smelled like dried herbs and dirty nappies, a surprisingly comforting smell: it was the aroma of a housewife's domain.

"Tea?" Lundy offered.

Valka nodded, "Please."

The house, Valka noticed, had been overrun with baby things. Though Snotlout could not even sit up, toys were placed everywhere. She caught sight of a tiny wooden hammer rattle that Stoick had carved for his nephew in honor of his naming ceremony. She pursed her lips and glanced away.

"Water was still hot," Lundy returned with a fresh cup of tea.

"Thanks," Valka smiled weakly before taking a sip. It was too bitter for her taste today.

"Maybe you should stop trying for a while," Lundy said cautiously.

"So says the midwife: your job is to encourage more babies."

"Yes that's true, but I also know that it can take a while."

"It didn't for you and Spite."

"Well…after we were married no, it didn't."

Valka ran her finger around the rim of her mug. She felt so silly, so stupid.

"I was worried about having a baby for months; every time anyone mentioned it, even before I was married, it didn't feel real to me," she reached into the carrier and stroked Snotlout's fine black hair. "It wasn't until Snotty was born that I really began to _want_ a baby, not to give Stoick an heir, but to give the world a piece of us, you know?" She sighed, "Stoick wouldn't even call the baby his heir."

"That's…different," Lundy muttered, "Honorable I guess."

"It's a long story," Valka responded. "But I think he's started to become more desperate than I am."

"Desperation is not good for the female body. Stop wanting a baby and _poof_ , instant baby."

Valka giggled, "I don't think it's that mystical Lunds."

Lundy swallowed a sip of her tea; Valka could see an idea forming in her eyes.

"Tell you what, let me take you to Gothi. Just let her examine you, see if there's anything else going on, and give yourself a peace of mind. I'll be with you the entire time."

"Lundy…"

"Come on, I need to go up there anyway to get Snotty some more salve for his sore little bum-bum."

Valka snorted, "I'm going to tell him that when he's older."

"I'd expect nothing less from his favorite auntie."

* * *

Gothi hobbled from one end of the room to another, her staff thumping against the floor. Supposedly, the old woman had once been young and beautiful and vivacious…though Valka couldn't see how that was possible. Her father had told her that Gothi was old even when he was a boy.

 _Perhaps,_ Valka considered, _she was immortal._

"Um, Gothi, listen," Valka began, adjusting her dress back to its proper fastenings. "I'm not desperate, not yet…but is there anything I can take to help things along? A tea? An herb? Raw fish?"

She thought she saw the traces of a smile on the old woman's face.

Gothi approached Lundy and carefully removed Snotlout from his carrier. Lundy protested only briefly, but quieted when she saw the elder bring the baby over to Valka. Valka extended her arms for her nephew…but Gothi held the baby, right at Valka's belly.

"Huh?" Valka stepped back, speechless. "I-"

Gothi nodded, and grinned toothlessly, far too eager for Valka's comfort. Valka took Snotlout in her arms and held him up against her shoulder. He snuggled in against her collarbone.

"Valka!" Lundy gasped, jumping to her feet. "You're-?"

"I…uh…wow, okay." She peered down at the squat old woman. "You're sure?"

Gothi nodded, still grinning.

"Positive?"

She grunted.

"Absolutely certain…?"

Rolling her pale eyes, Gothi turned around and scratched her staff into the dust and dirt that had collected on her shack's floor. The runes spelled out a clear, concise answer: PREGNANT.

Lundy helped Valka to the bed before she collapsed.

"That explains your Gobber-like foulness," Lundy beamed. "Oh Valka-"

"Am I okay though?" she said suddenly. In a matter of seconds she felt faint, acutely aware of everything occurring in her body at once. She could feel her blood pulsing, her brain sending out instructions through her systems, life… _growing_ …

"Of course you're okay silly! This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Tears welled up in Valka's eyes. She smiled weakly, "Of course it is."

"You can't be that far along, can you?"

They looked at Gothi; the old woman was still grinning as she wrote: _Harpa_.

"Oh! A summer babe!"

Valka did the calculations in her head. "I've been pregnant for a while. It's _Haustmánuður_ now. Two months?"

"Maybe before Stoick left for Helheim's Gate-"

"But I've bled since then."

Gothi grunted, waving her free hand back and forth as if to say: it happens.

Swallowing, Valka continued. "But it's true then? I really am…am..."

" _Pregnant_!" Gothi hacked in her weak voice, " _Last time_."

"Oh Vally…" Lundy squeezed her sister, "You're going to be a mama! And Stoick, he'll be-"

"Stunned," Valka answered. "Completely stunned."


	24. Meatballs

It pained Lundy to keep the secret, even more than it pained Valka. Part of her was still in disbelief: her, pregnant? How had she not known? She hadn't felt ill, only foul tempered at times. She concluded that it must have occurred before Stoick left on his voyage; she remembered the evening before his departure being particularly passionate…

"Stay focused," she muttered to herself. "Don't let them burn."

Cooking. Valka was cooking.

She had kept the secret knotted inside her chest for a month, until both Gothi and Lundy reassured her that the dangerous time of uncertainty was over. Miscarriages were still possible, but rarer, and so now was as good a time as any to tell Stoick. The term "butterflies in your stomach," had a new meaning for Valka. Some days she swore she felt little flutters in her belly, but it was still too early. The babe was still much too small.

"Hopefully your daddy won't suspect anything," she cooed gently, nervously, "I never cook." Her hand landed on her stomach, still flat much to Lundy's chagrin. "He might think I'm trying to poison him, but we know better, huh bug?"

She had taken to calling her bump, bug. It had been her excuse when she felt nauseous and Stoick questioned her dizziness. "Must be a bug," she would say. Oddly enough, it had kept Stoick from prying; he was infamously queasy when it came to sickness.

Valka exhaled, removing the pan from the heat. She had made meatballs, a simple enough recipe, at least in her mind. She had seen her mother make them a thousand times, and when she was a younger girl her mother had said that Valka's meatballs were "somewhat edible."

"There," she poked them with her finger, testing for done-ness, "All set."

She had picked some flowers for their table, autumnal blooms that matched the turning trees. Lundy had gifted her a bottle of honey wine for the occasion, and instructed her to let Stoick have two servings of the drink before telling him. So far, everything was going according to plan.

"We can do this bug, we can."

She was not, however, expecting Gobber to parade in behind her husband.

"Evening Mrs. Haddock!" he limped in jollily; Valka could smell the stench of the forge on him. The smell brought about another wave of nausea.

"Hello Gobber," she forced a smile on her face, "what a pleasant surprise."

"Gobber and I have some plans to discuss for new defenses before we head up to supper," Stoick kissed his wife chastely on her cheek. "Should only be a few minutes before we can head up-"

"Oh but, that's not necessary Stoick," she chuckled nervously, "I, um, I already made supper."

"You what?"

Valka placed her hands on her hips: "I...made...supper..."

Stoick smiled sheepishly, "Oh…that's great love…"

"Well I'm starving," Gobber sat down at the table, reaching for the bottle with his good hand.

"Er…is this okay?" Stoick asked, mouthing an apology.

Despite the frustration eating away at the back of her mind, Valka remained collected.

"Not at all, there's plenty of meatballs for everyone."

"Oh meatballs!" Gobber added. "Your mum makes the best."

"Well lucky for you two, this is my mother's recipe."

Gobber grinned his crooked, rotten smile, fork at the ready. Stoick simply nodded as he slowly, cautiously, and very very nervously made his way into his seat.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want more Gobber?" Valka held up the plate before the blacksmith, only for him to hold up his hand.

"Er no, no thanks Valka. I'd die-" he paled, "I mean I'd die of too full of a belly."

"Stoick?"

Her husband shook his head, his smile faint beneath his beard.

"No, I couldn't eat another bite. Thank you dear. That was a…surprise."

"Well, what kind of wife would I be if I didn't cook for my husband?"

"A good one…ARGH!"

Gobber yelped, reaching under the table.

"Leg acting up again Gob?" Stoick said stiffly.

"Ah, yes, that…must be it."

"Can I get you something Gobber?"

"No! I mean…no thanks Valka. You've been more than generous," he rose stiffly from the table, favoring not his peg leg, but his actual leg. Valka glared at Stoick sharply.

"Leaving so soon?" Stoick pressed on, "Thought we were going to talk about the new torches-"

"Er, maybe another time Chief. I need to get home and throw…myself into bed. How about tomorrow night? You can come by my place and… _I'll_ cook for you two?"

"I'll let you know in the morning," Stoick rose to show his friend to the door, "Rest up Gobber."

"Goodnight Gobber."

The door moaned shut, or perhaps it was the Viking exiting the Haddock house. Valka frowned.

"Were they really that bad?"

"What? Bad? Gods no Val! Whatever gave you that…"

Valka had narrowed her eyes at him, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"Okay yes they were bad. Very, very bad."

Valka sighed, pushing around the remnants of her uneaten meatball around on her plate. Despite her attempts to restrain them, tears sprung free. "I thought I actually made them right this time. Mum used to make them all the time, I thought I had the recipe memorized. Guess I need more practice-"

" _Or_ you could not worry about it?" Stoick's hand landed softly on her shoulder, "Darling I don't mind eating up at the Hall every night; I've been doing it since I was a boy. I'm used to it." He sat down beside her, holding her hand. "I thought you were happy with that arrangement?"

"I am, really."

"So, why are you crying?"

"I just wanted tonight to be special."

"Tonight?" Stoick paused. Valka could see the gears in his minds turning at full speed.

She chuckled quietly, "No, it's not our anniversary Stoick…not even close."

"Then I'm confused."

Valka pushed the half full bottle of honey wine over, "Another cup?"

"Trying to get me drunk?"

"I've seen you split a barrel with Fisk Ingerman. Two cups will not make you drunk."

He winked, "Drunk on you maybe."

Valka rolled her eyes and groaned, "My lovesick husband."

"Love? Yes. Sick…well..." He squeezed her hand gently before pouring himself another cup. "No, I doubt your cooking will make me sick: I have an iron stomach…you, on the other hand…"

"Oh I'm always nauseous these days-"

She froze, suddenly aware of what she had just said. Stoick stared at her tensely.

"You still have that bug?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you should see Gothi. It's been a few weeks…"

 _Frigga help me,_ Valka prayed, _this is it._

"Well I did see Gothi," she stood up, clearing the table. She needed to do something with her hands, "and it turns out that this type of bug can stick around for a while."

"How long?"

"About nine months or so."

Stoick remained silent. Valka had to turn her back to him to keep from grinning like a fool.

 _Three...two...one..._

"That's an oddly specific time…is it dangerous?"

And her grin was gone.

"No Stoick, it's not dangerous."

"So what can you do about it? Any herbs or medicines?"

"Nope."

"Remedies? There's gotta be something-"

"There's nothing you can do about it until it's born."

"It…what are you-" he finally turned around. The mug in his hand trembled. He had a peculiar expression on his face, a mix of confusion, surprise, happiness, and nausea. "You're-?"

"Yes."

"We're-?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Oh would you just come over here already?"

Stoick obeyed. Timidly, hyper aware of every one of her muscles, Valka lifted the tunic she was wearing. As always, Stoick's breath hitched at the sight of her pale, milky skin, but she was not enticing him into marital acts. This time, she wanted him to notice the tiniest of bumps at the base of her stomach.

Stoick fell to his knees. Valka thought he was going to faint, but instead his fingers gently spread across the warmth of her skin. He was shivering, but then again, so was she.

"Is this…is this really happening?"

"Yes," Valka's hand found his, guided his. "I've known for a few weeks."

"You didn't tell me?"

"I wanted to be careful in case…" she stopped, "But that doesn't matter anymore. It's safer to tell now."

"I'm surprised you kept this a secret."

"Believe me, so am I."

He came even closer, using two hands now to feel, to search for the presence deep inside Valka.

"I've been calling him 'bug,'" she confessed.

"Ah, so this is your bug," Stoick chuckled. Valka nearly cried when she saw the tears in his eyes. He rested his forehead against her belly and began to whisper, "Hello bug, I'm your…I'm your daddy. How are you?"

"Oh Stoick…" She truly was crying now.

"If your mama needs to take it easy, will you let me know? We need to make sure she's okay, to make sure that you're okay," he pressed his lips to her skin. "The two greatest loves of my life."

He stood up, his lips immediately finding Valka's. With his hands cupping her head, he wiped away the tears that were steadily flowing. Valka could feel a starburst of happiness blooming between them, so brilliant and bright that every other guiding force in the universe felt small and powerless. There was no world beyond their four walls; there was not even a fixture standing around them.

"I love you: I love you, I love you, I love you," Stoick nuzzled against her ear, refusing to let go. She sighed, absorbed in the contentment of their happiness.

All that existed in that perfect moment in time was Stoick, Valka, and their little bug of a babe.


	25. Stubborness

Valka had begged and pleaded with Stoick not to spread the good news. The Chief was, naturally, over-the-moon, once the initial shock of her confession had worn off. He had wanted to go up to the Hall, to shout it from the rooftops that he was going to be a father; he was so ecstatic that Valka was certain the whole village would overhear them through the walls of their home. She practically corralled him inside their house to keep him from trotting off.

"Please Stoick," she had whimpered, "not yet."

"But why Val? This calls for celebrations!"

"No! Please, I couldn't bear it, all that doting and staring…"

"They wouldn't be staring at you for _bad_ reasons Val-"

"A lot of them would though!" Her fists had balled up in his tunic. Her crying had exhausted her.

"You know how the women of this village are, they're nothing but gossips and busybodies. I don't want that scrutiny everywhere I go. I don't want them judging me," she sniffled, wiping her face. "They already judge me for being weird, for having…different views…but now it'll be that I'm too skinny to have the child of the chief, or that I shouldn't eat that if I want a boy, or do this, not that and-"

"Whoa, whoa, okay love, okay."

Valka had not realized she had been rambling, her mouth hardly able to keep up.

"Sorry," she had muttered. "Please Stoick, give me more time; give _us_ more time. This is _our_ happiness, not the world's."

"Alright Val," Stoick had kissed her gently, sweetly; a promise on his lips. "Does anyone else-?"

"Gothi and Lundy. That's all…unless you count Snotlout."

Stoick had chuckled, "No, I guess we can't count Snotlout."

And that had settled the matter, and had sparked the longest month of Stoick's life. Valka found it almost amusing how frustrated Stoick was that he couldn't share his happiness. She had watched him bounce Snotlout on his knee as an onlooker remarked about how he was bonding with his heir. Lundy and Valka exchanged numerous knowing glances, much to Stoick's chagrin.

"I can't even tell Gobber?" he had asked one evening.

"No, of course not!" Valka responded, shocked at the notion, "Two mugs of ale and the whole village will know! Do _not_ tell Gobber!"

"How about your mother then?"

Valka had considered this; she felt guilty about not telling Ursula, but she had decided it was for the best. Having Lundy in on the secret was bad enough. Her mother would have not been able to control herself, not when it came to a grandchild of her own blood.

So the secret had remained, and to Valka that made her little bug all the more precious. Stoick, busy as he was, made certain to come home early. As they laid on their bed, Stoick would press his cheek against Valka's belly, and tell stories of Viking lore or of his own youth.

"I need to make sure they know my voice," he had insisted to a sleepy Valka one night.

"I'm sure they'll know you," Valka had yawned, "You talk to them enough."

Stoick had chuckled, before going off onto another story about his extensive travels.

To say that he was head over heels in love was a gross understatement.

* * *

"Wow," Stoick said as they dressed. The skies were threatening the first snowfall of winter, and so the couple needed to add extra layers to their already adequate clothing. Valka had stripped out of her warm, wool nightdress, and searched for the thickest leggings she owned. When she found them beneath the bed, Stoick had gasped in amazement.

"What?" she asked, holding up the leggings before her, shaking them free of dust.

"You're…showing."

"You've seen my bump before."

"No I mean…you're really showing Val, look!"

Valka glanced down: in the brief moment that she had bent down, her belly had shifted. Now instead of being a tiny, easily concealed bump, it protruded into a round mound.

"Oh no…" she whispered.

"You're not fat-"

"It's not that!" Valka snapped, suddenly panicked, "Everyone is going to notice! Oh Stoick-"

"Hey, calm down Val," he stepped across the room, pulling her trembling body to his bare chest. "It's not the end of the world."

"I know it's not…I just," she sniffed, "I was enjoying the quiet."

"Well…in five months it won't be quiet around here."

"Ohhh…" she retracted, pacing in a frenzy. "I don't want them to see me. I haven't even told my mother yet!"

"Why don't you tell her today?"

"And leave the house with," she gestured to her belly, "this?"

"Ugh," Stoick rolled his eyes. He stepped over to his wardrobe and dug out a lump of fur: it was an old brown cloak. "Here…I'm not using this. It's cold enough already. Stitch yourself something to cover whatever you want to cover," his eyes brightened, "then maybe make a swaddle for the bug."

"I can't make one in a day-"

"You won't have to…I'll go see your mother and say that you're unwell. She'll come over and you can tell her today."

"But we wanted to tell her together."

Stoick shrugged, though his smile was glistening with pride. "Well, our bug must be a stubborn one who doesn't want to cooperate."

* * *

"Vally?" a quiet knock came at their front door an hour later. Valka did not answer; she had a needle in her mouth that her nervous fingers could not thread for anything. She sat in Stoick's chair, the fur draped across her lap. She had already cut a sufficient piece for a swaddling blanket, and was now attempting to transform the bulk of the fur into a concealing, fashionable wrap.

"Oh," the door creaked open. Ursula stepped inside, shaking off her boots before hanging her cloak. "I didn't think you'd be down here. Stoick said you were ill, I thought you'd be upstairs."

"I'm fine," Valka said, "just tired. Thought I'd do some sewing."

Ursula pulled up a chair; Valka kicked the small bit of fur behind her sewing basket, out of sight.

"That's quite a fur there."

"Stoick gave it to me; the man had it stashed away collecting dust. I figured I'd could make something useful out of it."

"I'm glad you picked up on sewing," Ursula smiled, "You girls are so busy now you can't have your sewing circle."

"Nope, though I don't really mind that much. I can actually concentrate here."

"What are you making?"

"Some sort of vest or shawl, haven't decided yet."

She held it up for Ursula to inspect. Her mother hummed in thought.

"Why not make it almost an apron?" She nodded for Valka to stand. Hesitant, Valka obeyed.

"Drape it over your shoulder here," Ursula moved the fabric, "Stitch it up the sides, hem it here…and you can have a belt right at your waist-"

"Great!" Valka jumped away before her mother could touch her waist. "That's a great idea."

"I have some every now and then," Ursula fiddled with the fabric, frowning. "Did something happen to it? There's a chunk missing-"

"Oh, Stoick said a dragon got ahold of it. That's why he never wears it."

"Would have thought Stoick would have worn it as a badge of honor."

Valka beamed proudly, "He doesn't need badges."

"True," Ursula smiled, "I'm glad you're so happy Vally. Your father always worried about you."

"About me being a spinster? Ha." Valka folded the fur on her lap, "Wouldn't he be surprised."

Her mother's smile faded. She glanced at her hands in her lap, her fingers the same long digits that Valka had inherited, only covered in faded scars and callouses from years of hard work.

"I've been thinking about him a lot lately," Ursula began somberly, "with Snotlout and you and Spite both married…all of the years he had left in his life…"

"It's not his fault Mum," Valka insisted, "You know that."

"No, it was Vally…but I can't blame him for his actions. I am equally to blame for everything…but if we had listened to sense then we wouldn't have you…we wouldn't have had this big, beautiful life that surrounded us for sixteen years," she dabbed at her eyes with the edge of her apron, the same one Valka had stitched her father's name on over a year ago.

"He left me with the greatest masterpiece anyone could ask for: he gave me you and your brother…and Lundy and Snotlout and Stoick. I just wish he was here to see it all. He would have been so…so happy…"

"But you're happy too, aren't you Mum?"

Ursula's smile never reached her cheeks, "Yes."

Valka's heart pounded in her chest. A knot of dread formed in her throat. "Mum?"

Her mother stood stiffly from her stool, her hands clasped together in an elegant bowl before her. Valka moved to rise, but remained; she had not told her mother about the baby yet.

"I went to see Gothi last week. This cough…it comes and goes, but last week my chest began to hurt. I thought it was from lifting Snotty…he's a big babe and I'm not as strong as I once was…but the pain wouldn't go away." She paused by one of the windows, glancing out at the blurry world beyond the confines of the four walls. The flurries had continued, falling slowly, dreamily.

"I thought she would give me something to help my muscles, a salve or a tonic…ten minutes turned into two hours…"

"Mum, what are you saying?"

Ursula glanced over her shoulder at her daughter, her gray eyes cold and voided.

"I'm dying, Valka."

The words covered them like a sheet of ice, turning every inch of Valka's body numbed. Instinctively, she reached for her stomach, for her little bug, to shield them from the cold. The trace amounts of air left in her body vaporized, leaving her starved for breath.

"W-what?"

Ursula held her chin aloft, defiant with the universe and its cruelties. She did not cry.

"Gothi said that my chest is clouded, that when she listens it all sounds muffled. She suspects that there is something unnatural inside of me, something we can't see. I've lost weight, this cough hasn't gone away and I'm so, so very tired Valka."

"Mum-" Valka choked out.

"Please don't cry Vally, it'll be alright. I think I've known this was coming for a while now. I know I'm not the same young girl I once was, but I'm not as old as I feel. Valhalla is calling me, though I don't know when I'll receive its message," her eyes glistened, not with sadness but with hope. "And I'll be able to see your father again."

"No, no you can't…you can't _leave_ me!" Valka trembled violently, gasping for air. Her hands sought for something to contain the bile that threatened to expel itself from her stomach. She fought to suppress it, but lost. Without a second to spare she found a bucket for ashes and vomited into it, the force of which made her ribs feel as though they would crack. Her mother's arms wrapped around her as she heaved, stroked her hair and pulled it away from her face. Valka could hear her mother whispering to her, but her ears could not make sense of the words. All Valka could do was stumble out in between rounds of sickness: "Mum, Mum…"

"Shh, it's alright darling."

"No, no it's _not_ alright," Valka straightened, her body clammy and her breath foul. She was angry, at her mother, at Gothi, at the gods, at herself. She would be angry at Stoick if he was here. The only innocent in the entire universe was curled up in her belly, blissfully unaware. Fate was cruel. Fate was evil.

"Mum, I'm _pregnant_ ," she pulled back her loose fitting robe so that the bump was visible. Ursula gasped, her hands reaching up to cover her mouth. For the first time since she entered the house, tears sprang to Ursula's eyes.

"Vally-"

"I've known for a few weeks but I kept it a secret, but I _can't_ now," she gestured to her belly. "I was going to tell you before the whole village knew, but now… _now-_ "

"I'm here, I'm right here darling."

Ursula pulled her daughter close, as though she was a baby once more. Valka always enjoyed being held and cuddled: Smitelout had said Ursula was spoiling her, but every moment Ursula spent with Valka was precious. The woman sighed in heartache: every moment with Valka was still precious, only now for very different reasons.

The next few months were going to be trying, she knew that. But Ursula was a stubborn woman.

"I'll be here," she pressed her lips to her daughter's head. "I'll be right there with you when this baby is born. I'll hang on for you. I promise-"

"Mummy-"

"I _promise_ Valka."

And Valka knew she meant it.


	26. We're Vikings

**Brace yourselves...**

* * *

It had been years since Valka had to sit in the darkness while war waged above them. The attack had come swiftly in the middle of the winter night. The sentries had barely been able to sound the horns before the first of the dragon blasts struck the village. Stoick had practically leaped out of bed, the lack of weight sending Valka a few inches off of the cot. She had grunted, moaned, sleepily asking: "What is it?"

"Dragons," Stoick had hissed, already dressed. How he managed that speed Valka hadn't a clue. Practice she supposed. Groggily, she had pushed herself up, mindful of her belly. She reached for clothes, but Stoick had swept her up into his arms.

"Stoick, put me down, I can walk."

"I don't need you to walk, I need you to run," he had wrapped a quilt around her and carried her down the stairs and into the fray. "You're going to the shelter-"

"Stoick!"

"Don't fight me on this Val," he huffed as he darted through the village with her in his arms. A swarm of dragons circled above. "I need you and the baby safe, not putting out fires."

Valka had pouted and sulked, but in the end she had climbed into the bunker beneath Farmer Borkson's barn. Lundy and Snotlout were already inside, along with a sour face Odina Hofferson. Aron had drunkenly announced that his wife was pregnant during Snoggletog and, try as she might, the village had insisted that she cut back on her shield maiden duties. This included fighting in dragon attacks.

There was one face Valka did not see.

"Stoick! My mother!"

He glanced down into the bunker, fear in his eyes.

"I'll get her! Stay here!"

Valka trembled as she sat. Lundy put her arms around her in a sisterly manner. Snotlout was, fortunately, asleep.

"It'll be okay Valka-"

"She's so weak."

"Spite already went looking for her. They'll get her here."

Odina frowned at the trapdoor above them.

"First attack all season. What happened to them?"

"You're complaining about a lack of attacks?" Lundy asked.

"It's just weird that's all," Odina pressed a hand to her mouth. "Gods it stinks in here."

"Well don't puke on us," Lundy retorted, shifting Snotlout in her arms. Valka saw her nephew open his bright blue eyes momentarily before shutting them, not worried at all about their predicament. She kept her eyes focused on him, desperate for something to chew up time as she waited.

The trapdoor opened after what felt like centuries. Spitelout appeared with Ursula in his arms. Two of the older women in the bunker helped Ursula down so that she did not stumble.

"Everyone okay in there?" Spite asked.

"We're fine-"

"I'm not!" Odina shouted.

"We'll be back soon!" Spitelout promised, ignoring Odina.

Valka crawled over to where her mother rested and laid beside her.

"Oh Vally," she cooed softly. The past few months had been difficult, her mother was wasting away, her life force being drained by whatever interloper made its lair in her body. Still, she had kept her promise, and continued to fight. Phlegma proved to be a diligent nurse, at least when Valka or Lundy were not available.

Her mother's hand found Valka's bump, pleasantly curved. It comforted Ursula to know that her grandchild was content within the safety of Valka's womb. Some days Valka would sit and let her mother talk to her baby, tell it stories and sing it songs that Valka remembers from her childhood.

"Have you thought of any names?" Ursula asked softly, resting her head on Valka's shoulder.

"No Mum, it's still too early. I still have almost two months left to go."

"Don't let Stoick name the baby, or you might get another Snotlout."

Valka giggled. Around them the world was burning, yet Valka found peace.

For now.

* * *

Sunlight blinded them when the trapdoor next opened. The children and several of the adults had fallen asleep, Valka included. As she stirred, the little one inside her did a somersault. Valka smiled.

"I know you don't like mornings bug," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

Buffnut and Hilly stood above them, covered in ash and soot.

"We survived the night!" Buffnut reached in to help Lundy and Snotlout out. One by one the evacuees piled out from the bunker, Valka being lifted as if she was made of glass.

She turned to Hilly, but the blonde held up her hands.

"I don't know the body count or the damages. I was just sent here by your husband to get you."

"Where is he?" Valka watched as Buffnut carried her mother out from underneath. "The Hall?"

"No, he was heading towards the Ring. Spitelout, Aron, Fisk, and Gobber were with him."

The young wives stared at one another nervously. The usual post-battle plan was to meet in the Hall to assess damages and injuries…not to go to the Ring.

Something was wrong.

"Vally?" Ursula spoke softly, cautiously.

"Buff, take my mother to the Hall please. I need to find Stoick."

"Wait up!" Odina, Hilly, and Lundy followed behind her, Snotlout still in Lundy's arms.

"You don't have to come with me you know-"

"Of course we do," Odina sniffed, "something's up and we want to know what."

"Yeah, and besides," Lundy beamed at her sister-in-law, "You're the leader of us girls."

Valka raised a brow, "Really?"

"Well yeah," Hilly scoffed, "You're married to the Chief."

"Hilly!" Lundy hissed. "Apart from _that_."

"Oh, right."

"You did kinda earn it," Lundy continued, "With the Moon Bloods and all."

"That was years ago-"

"Doesn't matter," Odina answered swiftly. "We'll never forget."

* * *

A crowd was forming around the Ring, yet no one descended the path into the arena. Valka marched, aware that she was still in her nightdress with unbounded hair, but she did not care. Something was wrong, something was happening, and she knew that her husband was involved.

"Excuse me," she muttered politely, cutting through the crowd.

Why the change in routine? Berk had done the same thing for hundreds of years: fight, kill, and meet at the Hall. Fight, kill, and meet at the Hall. She had a very bad feeling in her gut.

"Kill it Stoick!" someone shouted from across the way.

Valka reached the chains that lined the dome and gasped in horror.

Inside the ring, tied down to the ground with iron shackles, was a young Timberjack.

"Oh sweet Thor," Hilly whispered as the young women gathered besides Valka.

"Is that a…a Timberjack?" Lundy gulped.

"We've never had one of those here before," Odina stated stiffly.

"Valka! Lundy!" a familiar voice called to them. Solfrid squeezed through the crowd, her tunic singed on the sleeves, no doubt from putting out blazes. She looked exhausted, but otherwise unharmed.

"What's going on? What are they doing?" Valka demanded as Solfrid caught her breath.

"They caught the Timberjack trying to escape to the forest, got a net around it," she panted. "Fisk said that they would put it in a pen, but we don't have one big or strong enough against those wings so…"

"So they're just going to _kill_ it?" Valka gasped, horrified. Solfrid nodded. "But it's a young one!"

"So what?" Phlegma joined ranks with them, a new cut down the side of her face. "It'll get bigger and more dangerous. We can't just release it; we never just _release_ them."

"Valka," Lundy said gently, "It's a dragon. We're Vikings. You know this is how it works-"

"But that doesn't make it right!"

Valka shrugged off their reassuring glances and jogged down the slope to the mouth of the ring. She could hear the young dragon whimpering in fear, trying to cough out a shot, but to no avail. It must have reached its limit, and with its wings bolted down and its neck tied to stakes, it was defenseless.

Even still, the men surrounding the dragon kept their distance. Stoick had his axe, Spite had a sword, and the other men held up their various respective weapons. They encircled the dragon, though it was Stoick who had the greatest access to the beast's heart.

"Stop!" Valka cried from the threshold. She could hear chatter arise from the crowd but she did not care. Tears were in her eyes. "Stoick, stop this!"

"Val?" For a moment, Stoick hesitated, his axe dipping in his hands. "What are you doing here?"

Finding her courage, Valka stomped into the ring, wary of the dragon, yet unafraid.

"I knew something was wrong, I just didn't think it would be _this_!" She gestured to the young dragon. "You're executing a dragon for trying to escape? For trying to leave the battle?"

"It's a dragon—"

"It's a juvenile! Look at it!"

"I _have_ looked at it Valka. All of us have. Those wings would cut through our homes and bodies without a second thought-"

"But they didn't, did they?"

"Valka-"

"Did they!?"

She glanced up at the crowd: "Did anyone see this dragon during the battle, actually causing damage? Huh? Did it hurt anyone? Did it kill anyone?" At their silence she growled: "Answer me!"

"Enough Valka!" Stoick shouted. "That's enough! Get home before you hurt the baby-"

"Not until you stop this."

"Our pens can't hold a young Timberjack let alone an adult-"

"Let it go!"

"Come on Valka," another pair of arms wrapped around her elbow, pulling her away. Spitelout kept his head down, though she could hear the impatience in his voice. "Let's go."

"No! This isn't fair! He didn't do anything!"

"Take her home Spite-"

"No!"

"Aye Chief-"

Spitelout pulled now, as firmly as he could without harming his sister. He managed to turn her around, but Valka could still see Stoick, could see him raising his axe—

" _NO!_ "

Three seconds.

The crowd watched in haunting, sickening silence as in those three seconds, Valka Haddock had freed herself from her brother Spitelout's grasp, charged at her husband Stoick, grabbed his arm, only to be thrown back onto the hard stone of the ring.

Right onto her pregnant stomach.


	27. Pulse

**:taps fingers together maniacally:**

* * *

"Val? Valka!"

The world was spinning, a blur of gray clouds striped with red and green. It was sickening, dizzying; Valka felt the urge to vomit but nothing would come out except for a shudder of a moan.

"Oh gods please. _Please_! Valka! Wake up!"

She squinted, her eyes slowly coming into focus. Yes, the fuzzy outlines became clear now: green from Stoick's eyes, red from his beard, and gray from the world behind him. His face was inches away from hers, too close in her nauseated state. She tried to bring up a hand to move him away, but felt only numbness.

"That's it baby, come on. Come back to me. Please!"

"Sto-" her lips parted in a faint gasp. How was she supposed to feel again? Angry. Yes, she had been angry, but why? No, that didn't matter. Not now. "Get…away…"

"Val-"

"I said get away!"

Finding feeling in her hand again she made use of her threat and pushed her husband aside. She sat up, a challenging feat given her pregnancy and the pounding of her head, and found herself in the middle of the Kill Ring. Memories came back to her, memories that felt decades old but she knew they only happened minutes, maybe even seconds ago.

Despite his protests, Valka rolled onto her knees. She could taste blood on her tongue, could feel something wet dripping from her forehead, but she ignored all of that now. All she knew now was anger.

"Do _not_ touch me," she snarled, pushing herself up from the ground. She would not fall, not here. "Don't _any_ of you touch me!" The other men, the accomplices to Stoick's deed backed off cautiously. The Timberjack was still there, still unscathed for now. Valka felt an aching need to reach out, to touch the dragon, but resisted. "You're sick, all of you. This dragon is an innocent. Killing it would be like killing a, like killing a…"

"Baby," Stoick whispered, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Valka sneered, "Like killing a-"

"The baby!"

The horror in Stoick's voice gave her pause. She followed his eyes, down her torso, over the soft mound of her belly.

Between her feet, there was a puddle of crimson blood.

"S-Stoick?" her voice quivered in a breath that was seized by crippling pain that brought her to her knees. The world skipped the blurriness that greeted her just minutes ago, and was replaced by a blackness far darker than the deepest night.

The last thing she remembers was screaming.

* * *

"LUNDY!" Spitelout screamed as he caught his sister beneath her arms. Stoick was frozen where he stood as the world whipped around him. He could hear his pulse in his head, the beating pounding out: _your fault…your fault...your fault_.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Lundy appeared, followed by Hilly and Solfrid. She ripped off a sleeve of her nightdress to press against the gash on Valka's temple, the second place she had hit when she fell. Fisk and Aron manifested with a piece of canvas, a makeshift stretcher. They held it aloft while Spitelout carefully lowered Valka in its cradle. She was unconscious, and paler than moonlight.

 _Your fault…your fault…_

"We need to get Gothi-" Lundy instructed.

"I'll go-" Hilly was off.

"Where's my mother?" Spite asked frantically.

"We left her at the bunker, I don't know where she went-"

"I'll go," Solfrid started to move.

"No, I need you. Where's Dina? DINA!"

"Phlegma just left for Ursula!" Someone, Odina, called.

"Oh gods!" Spitelout gasped as, in her unconscious state, Valka vomited.

"She's fine Spite, she's fine!" Lundy took the bloodied sleeve and wiped at the mess. "It's from hitting her head. Keep her head elevated so she doesn't choke." The petite, raven haired woman was shouting orders as fiercely as a chief. Her words were determined, but her eyes were frantic.

"We need to get her home. Aron, Fisk, carry her carefully. Spite, I need you at her head in case she gets sick again. Solfrid, run ahead and boil water, _lots_ of water."

No one mentioned Stoick standing there, no one even looked at him. He could hear whispers rising up from the crowd, some even calling out his name…but Stoick did not respond. He stared after the figures hastily moving out from the Ring. He could not move after them.

 _Your fault...your fault..._

"See to your families!" Gobber shouted to the crowd, "And pray for the Chief's wife and babe!"

When they hesitated, Gobber snarled: "NOW!"

Within seconds, the crowd thinned. Gobber and Stoick were alone, save for the frightened dragon still tethered down. Gobber, hovered by the Chief's side, but did not speak. He waited and watched, just as Stoick waited and watched for the figures who had taken his wife away.

 _Your fault…your fault…_

"Oh _gods_ …" Stoick's voice broke. The man felt his weight increase tenfold, and fell to his knees.

"Stoick, Stoick come on," Gobber nudged at his shoulder. "Get up now."

Tears rained off Stoick's nose onto the stones below.

"I can't…I can't…"

"Yes you can get up-"

"I can't lose her!" Stoick slammed his fist against the stone as a wave of sobs escaped him.

"You won't lose her-"

"You don't know that! No one knows that!"

"No, but you have to give her a fighting chance. Don't count the girl out yet. She's stubborn."

"So am I…gods why didn't I _listen_ to her-"

"Don't go blaming yourself now you muttonhead!" Gobber pulled Stoick up by the collar of his shirt. "You'll have plenty of time to do that later, and _when_ she makes it through she'll help you blame yourself more. I might even have to join in."

"I didn't think—I didn't want the axe to hit her-"

"I know what you thought Stoick. I know you didn't mean it. I think even she knows it," Gobber's voice softened, a rare feat for the normally brash blacksmith. "She'll forgive you for this, but she won't forgive you if you're not _there_."

"Aye," Stoick nodded, exhaling.

"What should I do about-" Gobber gestured towards the Timberjack.

Stoick groaned, a growl and a sigh combined: "Let it go."

"What?"

"Let it go and don't let anyone ask questions."

Gobber nodded, "Aye Chief. Now get going."

Stoick fled without another thought, leaving Gobber alone with the Timberjack.

In his solitude, the gruff, withered warrior let a few tears shed, letting them drip into his straggly mustache.

"Frigga, let Valka make it through this. Let her come out of this alive," he unbolted the first cuff on the Tumberjack's left wing. The Timberjack's yellow eyes stared at Gobber, but out of curiosity, not of malice. Gobber wasn't even paying attention. "I've grown fond of that girl, and Stoick loves her more than I've known a man to love a woman. Obnoxious as she can me, I think we need her here, that maybe-"

He broke the second bond, freeing both of the dragon's wings. He sighed, shaking his head.

"Never mind that, that's not the point. Just bring her back to Stoick."

He cut the bond over the dragon's neck: the Timberjack was loose. Gobber backed up, inching towards the weapon's cart, but the dragon slithered across the stones and out of the gate. Within half a second, his massive wings spread out alongside him as he took to the sunny sky.

Gobber, perplexed, relaxed.

He repeated his prayer as he closed up the Ring, locking the gate with a bang.

He had not realized that he had forgotten the babe in his prayers.


	28. Just Breathe

Stoick jogged up the hill winded. A stitch in his side had slowed him down, yet he did not allow his body a rest. He needed to get home. He needed to be with her when…when…

A fist landed against Stoick's cheek, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Spitelout-" Stoick moaned as he rubbed his bruising face. The Jorgenson man towered above him now, his eyes venomous, his sneer deadlier than a dragon's snarl.

"You stay the HEL away from my sister!" He went in for another punch, but Stoick blocked it with his palm. Stoick managed to pull Spitelout onto the grass beside him, though the force of his fall sent them rolling. Fists met his flesh, but Stoick did not strike back. He was purely defensive. He let Spitelout win.

"I need to— _mmph—_ I need to be with her-"

"She does _not_ need _you_!"

"Spite, it was an accident!"

"I don't care! You hear me? _I DON'T CARE_!"

The next punch felt softer, and the next one even softer. Spitelout retracted, his color fading from violent red into a gloomy paleness. Stoick sat up, already feeling his face and chest swelling, but he did not move away.

"You can beat me as much as you'd like tomorrow, or the next day, for however long it takes," he nodded towards the house on the hill, "But right now I need to be with Valka."

Spitelout shuddered, his shoulders trembled.

"She…she hasn't woken up."

 _Your fault…your fault…_

"Is…is the baby?"

Spitelout shook his head, "I don't know."

Stoick swallowed, rising from the ground. He extended a hand towards his brother-in-law. Surprisingly, Spitelout took it.

"Gothi isn't here yet. Lundy is doing what she can. Mum's helping her."

"Run and find Gothi. Carry the old goat if you have to, just get her here."

Spitelout nodded stiffly, "Aye Chief."

They went their separate ways, Spitelout to find the village elder, and Stoick to the unknown.

* * *

Lundy, Odina, and Solfrid shot Stoick the iciest of glares the moment he crossed the threshold into the bedroom. Odina was going around untying knots while Solfrid was wiping Valka's brow with a damp cloth. Lundy was at the foot of the bed, working beneath a sheet soiled with Valka's blood.

The only one who smiled at him was Ursula, but her smile was weak with worry. She sat on a stool by Valka's head, stroking her daughter's hair. It had darkened from sweat and blood, yet to Stoick it was still the most gorgeous color. He could see beads of sweat on Valka's forehead, and though her eyes were closed they were pinched in pain.

He exhaled deeply, and braced himself.

"Is she-"

"Alive," Odina spat.

"And the baby-"

"She is in labor, though it is much too early. After that _fall_ ," Lundy hissed the word, "and how early it is, the babe will be stillborn."

A shiver ran Stoick's spine. He knew there was no chance, but hearing it…

 _Your fault...your fault..._

"Okay," he murmured, though nothing about this was okay.

"Son," a voice was at his shoulder: Ursula. Her gray eyes were surrounded by shadow, but they kindly looked up at him. Stoick wanted to fall to the matron's feet to beg for forgiveness. By the quirk in her small smile, he thinks she knows that. "Go sit by her head, talk to her. Maybe she'll wake for you."

Stoick sat, his heart in his throat. The stool was tiny beneath him, the legs wobbling and creaking under his weight. It had never been a significant piece of furniture. He and Valka had mainly used it to collect dirty clothes, or for Valka to reach things when Stoick was unavailable. Now, it felt like the only thing keeping him from sinking through the floor.

Valka's hands were down beside her, and with the utmost care he swept one into his palm. Her long fingers were still; he brought them up to his lips.

"Valka? It's…it's me…" he glanced up nervously; the women in the room were busying themselves, though he had no doubt that they were listening. "I'm right here love…come back to me."

He bowed his head to shield his tears, his forehead against her limp shoulder.

"Please…you're my best friend Val…you're everything to me. Wake up for me darling. _Please_."

The only response was an unconscious grimace of pain around her eyes.

"There's so much blood," Lundy whispered.

Stoick trembled: he was no longer a chief, he was a grieving husband.

He let his walls down and sobbed.

* * *

Valka felt as though she was drowning. She felt wet and weighed down, the water keeping her body from rising to the surface. Every other breath brought a wave of pain shooting through her, hotter than Nadder fire. She wanted to scream, but could not find the strength to do so, her jaw locked. Voices surrounded her, encompassed her in an attempt to bring her to the surface. The muteness of her unconsciousness gave way to the clarity of reality.

Weakly, she opened one eye. The ceiling of her and Stoick's bedroom greeted her, shadows stretching long and thin from burning candles. The curtains were closed across the window. Cracking open the other eye, she saw the top of Stoick's frizzy red hair, his face pressed into the bed. Glancing down she saw that their hands were entwined, his grip much stronger than hers. She frowned, bending her fingers slightly, to match his hold.

The top of his head lifted to reveal a pair of red rimmed green eyes.

"Val?" he whispered, his brows rising on his forehead. She nodded stiffly.

"Oh gods," Stoick croaked, bringing her hand to his lips. He kissed each knuckle once, twice, in rapid succession before reaching over to kiss her cheek, her lips. "I thought I was going to lose you."

"I'm still here," she whispered, "No need to be dramatic."

"You don't…" he inhaled shakily before stopping. Whatever it was could wait.

"What's going on?"

His eyes watered. He swallowed with great difficulty.

"The baby is…deciding to come early."

"What?" Valka tried to sit up, only to yelp in pain as another white hot flame spread through her.

All at once, the quiet room came to life. Lundy had been asleep in the corner, but jumped to her feet as soon as Valka cried out. Odina and Solfrid rushed in from out in the hall, followed by her mother at a slower pace. Stoick clenched her hand, providing a steady comfort to her in her agony.

"What's going on—what's wrong with the baby?"

"It's-" Lundy began, freezing momentarily. "They just want to come early Valka."

"No! It's too soon! They won't-" she screamed. Her body felt possessed, as if it had grown a mind of its own. Whatever entity in charge of her had decided to tear itself into two.

"She's nearly there," Lundy called over her shoulder, "Is Gothi still downstairs?"

"She's on her way up-"

"Stoick, you should go," Lundy turned her attention to Valka's pale husband.

"What?" They both answered.

"This isn't…this isn't something you should be here for."

"Stoick!"

"I'm not leaving her-"

"Stoick!" Valka cried louder. Her body attempted to rise off from the bed, to recoil away from itself, but the women surrounding her pushed her back down.

"No! I need to move, I need to get up-"

"Valka you can't!" Lundy instructed.

"Oh gods, oh gods…" Odina paced behind Lundy, her complexion green.

"I'm right here Val, I'm right here."

"MUM!"

Ursula appeared on Valka's opposite side, and pushed her daughter's hair off of her forehead.

"You're doing great darling, just hold on."

Valka couldn't breathe. She buried herself into Stoick's broad chest and heaved.

"I'm scared Stoick!"

"I know, I know you are Val." She could hear it in his voice: he was petrified.

"Valka I need you to push, just a little bit."

"How!?"

Her body did the work for her, though not without sending another shock wave through her system. She screeched, feeling her insides shred and burn like offerings on a pyre.

"Head's out!"

"Come on Valka!" Solfrid stood nearby, cloth at the ready.

Valka pushed and sobbed: "I'm sorry Stoick, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, no, Val…Valka you're doing fine. Stay with me, okay? Just stay with me."

Her voice became inhuman as she bore down one final time.

* * *

Silence.

Where seconds ago there were chants and screams and cries, the world melted into a sickening silence. Valka panted on the bed, her body finally reclaiming itself, though she had no time to acknowledge it. All she wanted was to see the babe she delivered. Stoick sat beside her, pale and ashen, his eyes wide. Valka did not see him breathe.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Twenty seconds.

Lundy shuddered, her voice hollow: "It's…it's a boy."

"A boy?" Stoick echoed.

"Y-yes."

The great Chief's face fell. Valka reached for the hand he had taken away from her in the shock of the moment, only to find him standing, staring down Lundy.

"Stoick?"

"Give him to me-"

"Stoick he's-"

"He needs his mother and father!" He shouted, his voice raw and flooded with a conglomerate of emotions. Through her limited view, Valka saw something being passed to Stoick, wrapped up in a cloth. The Chief returned to his stool, eyes only for the tiny bundle in his hands.

Before Valka could even speak, Stoick began to rub the tiny body roughly.

"Come on," he whispered, "Come on son."

"S-Stoick," Valka wept.

He did not answer. He concentrated. Valka could not see her son; Stoick's hand completely covered him.

"You're the son of the Chief and the strongest woman in Midgard," he puffed into the infant's mouth, a gentle tiny breath. "You can do this, I know you can. Just breathe for me. One breath. Please."

Valka felt cramping, and pain between her legs once more, but ignored it. The pain in her heart was greater.

In the corner of the bedroom, Odina and Solfrid held one another. Ursula bowed her head and whispered in silent prayer, though Valka wondered who the prayer was for: her husband or her son.

Son.

She has a son.

No, _had_ …

"Stoick!" She howled.

 _Hic!_

The room froze. Stoick seized his rubbings, but instead stared at the bundle in his arms. Valka thought she saw the cloth move slightly, saw the frailest of hands…

"Son-?"

From within the cloths came the tinny, high pitched cry of a newborn babe.

"Yes! Yes that's it!" Stoick cheered, a cascade of tears flowing down his cheeks. "He's alive! Oh Valka, he's alive! _**Our**_ ** _son is alive!_** "


	29. The First Night

**He's here, but not without the dramatic flair of course. Our little talking fish bone baby dragon master.**

* * *

Gothi had been solemn throughout her inspections, exchanging somber glances with both Lundy and Ursula. A shadow had fallen on the Chief's household, and the only one unaware of its presence was the Chief himself.

He had not risen from the stool for hours. He had not allowed the babe to be taken away from him. He had insisted that Gothi's examination on his son be done with the babe safely in his arms. All Valka could do was watch in heartache, finally able to get a good look at the child she had delivered.

Tiny was still too big of a word to describe him. Frail, fragile, feeble…he fit in Stoick's palm. He was all head, his arms and legs as reedy as toothpicks, his ribs visible through his paper-thin skin. The only reassuring sight was his chest rising and falling rapidly, too rapidly, hungry for air.

Oh and his hair…her son had inherited his father's fiery hair.

Gothi, through Lundy's translations, instructed Valka to stay on bed rest for at least a weak. There had been trauma to her body, and she needed more time than most mothers to recover. Lundy had also explained that because of the baby's early appearance, her milk will not drop for a few days.

"But how will I feed him?"

The two women exchanged nervous glances over top of Valka.

Valka shivered: _oh_ …

"I think Valka should rest now," her mother spoke up, "It's been a trying day."

Ursula hastily escorted the two women out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her. The small family, tired and quiet, was alone.

"How are you doing?" Stoick whispered, though he did not look at Valka. His eyes were fixated on the baby.

"I'm fine," she lied. She doubted that she would ever be fine again.

"I think I've been hogging him. Here, you should hold him-"

"No," her voice had an unfamiliar, hard edge to it.

"But Val-"

Her shoulders slumped forward. Despite the ache in her belly, in her breasts, and deep within, she curled herself into a ball and wailed.

When her son had cried an hour ago, it had been a miracle.

But miracles could only last so long.

"I'm sorry!" she choked out. "I'm sorry!"

"For what? Val I-" she could hear Stoick sigh before the bed shifted beneath her. Stoick wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She sobbed even harder.

"It's my fault love, my and mine alone."

"I couldn't keep him, I couldn't hang onto him, I couldn't keep him safe-"

"Shh...You're alright. I'm right here."

Between them, cushioned by Stoick's unwavering protection, the baby whimpered.

Eyes of the deepest blue squinted up at them, taking in a world so dangerous to one so small. Valka glanced away.

"He wants his mum," Stoick whispered.

"I can't-"

"Please Val-"

"I can't get attached!" Anger crept into her tone. "I can't, not when we're going to lose him!"

"Lose him?" To her surprise, Stoick chuckled softly. "Oh my dear, not this one. Look at him."

She did, and grimaced.

"Stoick, he's so weak-"

"Weak? Where you see weakness I see strength. Look at these arms, he'll wield a sword in no time. Oh! And look how he watches," they glanced down: their little boy glanced up at them with heavy, sleepy eyes. "He's so curious. He'll be a smart one, like his mum."

Stoick carefully lifted the babe from out between them, to scooch himself closer to Valka. The baby fussed at this new position, mewling in alarm. Without thinking, Valka reached for him.

It was the first time she had held her son.

"Oh…" she had never felt so full, yet so empty.

"He's going to make it Val," Stoick whispered, resting his head on her shoulder. "I know it. One day he'll be the strongest of us all. He'll be the pride of Berk, the pride of the _world_."

With a trembling finger, Valka stroked down besides the babe's tiny mouth. He yawned, curling his toes, his eyes blinking in exhaustion from the daunting task of living. She whimpered, fighting back another round of stinging tears.

"He fought his way into this world, and he won't leave it without a fight. He'll make it Val. You'll see."

* * *

Valka hadn't even realized that she had fallen asleep. She woke with a jump, the candles extinguished, leaving her in terrifying darkness. Instinctively she reached first for Stoick, only to find his space on the bed empty. Then, she reached for her stomach, to pat the mound in reassurance.

But there was no bump, at least not one of the same size.

"Stoick?" She shivered, her voice small. "Stoick?"

Everything hurt. Valka grimaced as she sat up on the edge of the bed, grabbing at her sore body. She pushed herself off the bed and felt her way to the door. A soft light filtered up the steps, entrancing Valka to find the source. Tiptoeing, she saw Stoick sitting beside the hearth, covered in blankets and quilts. He was whispering to someone, someone hidden.

It was then she saw his hands placed protectively over a small mound on his chest.

The baby.

"Your mum saved the entire village by climbing up the tallest tree and shooting a fiery arrow into the sky. She's very good at climbing you know. Your grandfather, Smitelout, we lost him in the battle, but we gained our freedom from the threat of the Blood Moons. That was around the time I realized I loved your mother, that I would be a mutton-head if I didn't try to win her heart. Fortunately for all of us, she gave me a chance. Maybe one day a girl will give you a chance too. She'd be a fool not to."

"Stoick-" Valka called from the stairs. Her husband's eyes widened in alarm as he glanced over.

"Val, what are you doing?" He hesitated, moving to rise from his armchair, yet careful of the babe in his arms. Valka shook her head.

"I'm fine. I just couldn't find you."

"You should be in bed."

Valka did not respond. She descended the stairs, shivering in the chilly night air.

"He was getting too cold," Stoick explained.

"I think you have every blanket in the house."

Valka noticed the sweat on Stoick's face. He was overheating himself.

"He's been asleep for a bit now. He hasn't cried."

Dark thoughts passed through Valka's mind. She pushed them aside.

"Has…anyone been here?"

"Lundy stopped in for a minute. I think she was…surprised."

Valka said, her eyes glancing down to the tiny face of her son. His forehead scrunched as if he was deep in thought. "You need to sleep."

"I'll be fine," Stoick said stiffly. "This is my penance."

"Stoick-"

"He'd still be inside you if it wasn't for me."

They stared at one another, the conversation that had laid awkwardly between them for hours had finally come.

"I pushed you away-"

"I charged at you, it was my fault," Valka insisted.

"No, I should have just let the damn dragon go," he exhaled deeply.

Valka, her knees wobbling, sat down in her chair. "Did you?"

Stoick nodded, "Aye. I couldn't…not after what happened. Not after what I did…"

"It was an accident," her smile reemerged briefly, "You'd never hurt me."

"Never," Stoick replied, adjusting the babe on his chest. "But accident or not, I hurt him, and if I need to stay awake every moment of his life to make sure he never gets hurt again, so be it."

The baby hiccuped softly, his minuscule fingers reaching, grasping.

Stoick smiled tenderly, "He's been hiccuping a lot. I think it's his way of telling us he's okay."

"He's got you," Valka murmured, "of course he's okay."

"And you."

They stared at one another, his grass green eyes meeting her storm green eyes. Stoick stood, the blankets falling about him, and passed the baby to Valka. This time, she did not hesitate.

"We have a long journey ahead of us, little bug," Valka cooed to her sleeping son.

"They say that the first night is the hardest," Stoick knelt beside them.

The baby hiccuped again, cracking open his dark, dark eyes.

For the first time since his birth, Valka beamed. She felt a love deeper than she ever thought possible. A love so powerful it hurt.

"Oh my wee darling boy," she ran her finger across his features, from the tip of his curved nose, up around his tired eyes. She stroke the smoothness of his thin, fine hair, and the edge of his round ears. She had never seen a more precious babe.

"Mama loves you, Mama loves you _so much_."

Stoick pressed his lips to her temple, before kissing the top of their son's head. Though it was completely unorthodox, Stoick created a nest of blankets and quilts on the floor before the hearth. He propped himself up, then gently pulled Valka between his legs to rest her back his chest. Right on top of them was their little boy, buried between furs and other coverings. The heat was sweltering, but the babe was comfortable, and alive.

"Should we name him?" Stoick asked timidly.

"I don't know," Valka confessed, "It seems too auspicious."

"A nickname then, just something that we can call him."

"We've called him bug."

"That was different, he was unknown to us then. He's here now, we can see him. We know him."

Valka considered this; early in her pregnancy "bug" had been a generic nickname to some unknown entity. Even when he began to kick the name seemed to lose its touch. The babe in her arms was very much real, very much his own unique person, even in the early hours of life.

As if aware they were discussing him, the baby hiccuped again, and smacked his lips.

"Hiccup," Valka whispered, "We'll call him Hiccup."

"I like that," Stoick agreed, "Our Hiccup."

Valka yawned, nestling against her husband's broad chest.

"Sleep Val, I'll keep watch over him."

"What if he's hungry?" Valka suddenly felt ashamed. Her body was not ready to support the hunger of a little babe. "I can't-"

"We'll figure it out Val, I promise. We just need to get through this first night." His lips found the crook of her neck, touching her skin in an innocent peck. "Sleep my dear. You deserve your rest."

Valka wanted to sleep, but sleep evaded her. How could she sleep when the most fragile life in existence was curled up on her chest? Her son, her little Hiccup…

 _Please,_ she prayed, _let him get through this first night._


	30. All in the Family

**So...the incredible "beaubaloo" has created absolutely beautiful fanart of my story! I am so honored and lucky to have such great fans :)**

 **Check it out on tumblr!**

* * *

"Holy Frigg…"

Valka's eyes snapped open. Lundy was standing in the doorway to their hutch with her mouth agape. The satchel she was carrying dropped from her hand.

"Shut the door Val," Stoick muttered in his sleep, "Letting the cold in."

Lundy shut the door behind her, her eyes never departing from the sight in front of her.

"Is he…?"

Momentarily panicked, Valka looked down at her son, still on her chest. His deep blue eyes were more alert than they had been before, and he stared at her, as if not sure what to make of her.

Relief replaced fear.

He had made it through the night.

"Good morning my love," Valka smiled.

"Morning Val…" Stoick grumbled again.

"Stoick."

"Hm?"

"Wake up."

Stoick rustled around, pushing himself upright. He smacked his lips, the drowsiness refusing to leave his eyes as he glanced around in a confused state.

"What-"

"Later dear," Valka said quickly, "Lundy is here to check on _our son_."

"Our son…Hiccup!"

"Hiccup?" Lundy raised a brow. Valka and Stoick ignored her, having only eyes for the baby.

"Val, he made it through the night."

"I know."

"Our strong little warrior."

Hiccup's face contorted into something unnatural. His eyes squinted and, as small as his mouth was, it produced an enormous screech of a wail.

"Odin's beard what's wrong with him!?" Stoick jumped up in dread.

"He's hungry," Valka carefully rocked Hiccup in her arm. "He hasn't eaten."

"Is that why you're here?" Stoick asked Lundy. The dark hair woman blushed fiercely.

"Not...originally…"

Valka frowned, "How long do you think it will take for me to be able to feed him?"

"A few days maybe. We don't have very many babies born this early who…" she sighed, "Never mind. He's awake and obviously hungry. I can try to feed him, see if he'll take."

"Thank you," Valka remained disconcerted that she was unable to nurse her own son, yet she passed Hiccup onto Stoick, who in turn passed him to Lundy.

"Mind his head," Stoick instructed.

Lundy glared at him, "You do know I have personally _had_ a baby, right?"

"Sorry Lunds," Valka offered, "We're all just, a little on edge right now." She turned to Stoick, "Why don't you go find my mother. Have a bit of tea, tell her what's going on, eh?"

Noticing how Lundy was undoing her tunic, Stoick blushed scarlet up to his ears.

"Oh um, yes, yes I'll do that…now, right now." He kissed Valka chastely and gave one longing, lingering look at Hiccup, before disappearing out the door. Lundy shook her head, frowning slightly as she tried to maneuver Hiccup at her breast.

"I can't make any promises that this will work," she said, only to gasp. "Oh…he did it."

Valka almost cried.

"He's…incredible."

"Well, he's certainly a fighter," Lundy agreed, grimacing slightly. "And a hungry fellow..."

"Thank you for doing this. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome…fortunately Snotty eats a lot so I make a lot. Of course now his gums are hardening, so he'll probably cut his first tooth in a few weeks," Lundy shuddered. "You'll know that feeling soon enough though."

"You really think so?"

Lundy glanced over at Valka, sympathy in her eyes.

"I don't know Vally. I don't think anyone knows at this point in time. The fact that he made it through the night, that he even breathed at all is a miracle. The best thing we can do now is pray, and I guarantee you have most of the village doing that now."

"Does anyone know?"

"Only us girls and our husbands…and Gothi, Phlegma, and Gobber. The bulk of the village knows that you delivered the baby, but that's all. They don't know the gender or any specific details. I think right now everyone is wondering about that Timberjack."

Valka glanced away.

"That was really a stupid thing you did by the way," Lundy began firmly. "You let your emotions get the best of you, you let your beliefs take over your sanity. It's not just you anymore Valka. Whatever you do impacts him," she gestured down to Hiccup. "You're his mother and he needs you."

"I know, I know," Valka sighed, guilt coiling in her stomach like a snake. "I was just so angry-"

"You're always angry when it comes to dragons. When are you going to get it that our jobs as Vikings is to _kill_ them, not to let them go?"

"But that Timberjack was innocent. The only crime he was guilty of was being a dragon."

Lundy shook her head, exasperated.

"I don't understand you, I never have. Your father was a great warrior, and your brother had one of the best final exams in Berk history. Your husband is the Chief and you _still_ try to fight against our ways?"

"You don't fight dragons-"

"No because I've never been a fighter. I knew that from the beginning. I still know that we have to kill them though, that's just our ways. You're a fighter-"

"No I'm not-"

"You fought against humans, but when it comes to dragons you don't think we should kill them."

"I just think that there's a better way."

"There isn't one Vally, and there never will be. It's just the way things are. You need to figure that out, for your son's sake." Lundy exhaled, guiding Hiccup's mouth away from her breast. She glanced down at him and smiled slightly. "He's pretty cute you know."

"I know," Valka beamed with pride, her arms itching for her son back.

"Never seen a newborn this alert."

"He's curious."

In Lundy's arms, Hiccup stretched out, his reedy arms going out to his sides.

"Do you have that wrap you were working on?"

"Yes, it's in my sewing basket."

Lundy carefully handed Hiccup back to his mother, and retrieved the fur wrap Valka had been working on. When she unfolded it, both women began to laugh.

"This thing is going to swallow him," Lundy giggled.

"Grab a bit of cloth, I'll tie it around."

They fastened him a cloth diaper before swaddling him in the fur wrap. Lundy had found a bit of dark green fabric to wrap around the fur to keep it from slipping off, or Hiccup from slipping in. The baby frowned at his new predicament and began to whimper softly. Valka held him to her chest and hummed.

"There now my little love, Mama has you. You need to keep warm now."

Hiccup settled down. Within a minute he was asleep.

"When Stoick comes back, we'll wash you again," Lundy paused in thought. "How is he?"

"He blames himself."

"You're both to blame. You're both proud, hot tempered idiots," Lundy sighed shallowly, "But, he's here now, and he's alive."

"He's strong," Valka added. Lundy remained silent, preoccupying herself with tidying up the house. She straightened up the dining area and Stoick's work desk. Upstairs, she stripped the bed of its linens and brought them down to wash. When she returned from the outside, she saw that Valka and the baby were both sound asleep.

Tears formed in her eyes, tears that she could not blink away. She crept upstairs in grief.

"I'm so sorry Valka," she whispered to herself.

There was a today for the babe, but Lundy knew that there would not be a tomorrow, not for one so small.

* * *

"Meet your grandson," Stoick bent over, depositing Hiccup into Ursula's awaiting arms. The older woman had tears in her eyes, and had had them ever since Stoick had arrived earlier in the morning to announce that the baby had survived the night. With trembling, nervous hands, she touched her grandson's delicate cheek, enticing a sideways glance out of those newborn blue eyes.

"Oh Stoick," Ursula gasped, "He's beautiful."

"He looks like Valka."

Ursula chuckled, "You can never tell with newborns. He does have your hair though."

"Lundy told me that a lot of babes lose their hair."

"Aye, that's true. Valka's hair was black as Spitelout's when she was born, but within a few weeks she was as bald as Pappy Thorston used to be."

Stoick laughed boisterously. Ursula was glad at his enthusiasm. She could tell he was exhausted, wrought with constant worry. Who wouldn't be? He had almost lost his wife and he stands on the precipice of losing his son. Whatever brings him comfort at this time: he deserves a few laughs.

"She was all arms and legs. Not a very cute baby for the first few months. Too skinny, but she was _always_ hungry," she adjusted the baby in her arms. Her illness had caused her limbs to grow weak, yet she was determined to hold her grandson. "Have you thought of a name?"

"Not…a real name."

"Oh?"

"Just a nickname. Valka…doesn't want to be too careful."

"Which is a cautious route yes. So then, what is his nickname?"

"Hiccup."

Ursula mouthed the name, testing it on her tongue.

"Why couldn't that be his real name?"

Stoick stammered, "Well…I mean…"

"You want to name this sweet innocent babe something like Spitlog or Toadbreath? You don't have the best record with naming babies." Ursula winked, "No, I think Hiccup fits for this little one."

"I'll have to talk to Valka about it, but I think you might be right."

They both glanced over at the steps. Valka had been instructed by Lundy to return to bed after her gentle washing. She deserved as much rest as she could manage.

Ursula smiled sadly.

"I promised her I would be here."

"I know. She told me."

"I just didn't think it would be like _this_."

"Hey, you're here and he's here. The details are not important."

Ursula looked up at her son in law, tears stinging at her aching, tired eyes.

"You've given me two of the greatest gifts I could have asked for in my life Stoick. Hiccup," she nodded towards her beloved grandson, "And the perfect husband for my daughter."

"I'm far from perfect-"

"But you're perfect for _her_ ," Ursula emphasized. "Some days you may not feel like it, days like yesterday…but there are always going to be bad days. I know that you would do anything for her, and more importantly _she_ knows it." With her free hand, she tapped Stoick's, resting on the arm of the chair. "The bad days are lessons for tomorrow's good days, and I think that today is certainly a good day."

Stoick rested his other hand atop Ursula's, and squeezed.

"Aye, it is."

Hiccup yawned, a tiny squeak caught their attention. The adults chuckled, their sadness evaporating in an instant. Lundy returned from the outside world, her face flushed from the nipping cold.

"Geez," she muttered, throwing off her cloak, "It's hotter in here than it was before."

She pecked Ursula swiftly, before reaching for Hiccup.

"Are you sure you can manage nursing two babies Lundy?" Ursula asked.

"Mothers have done it before. Besides, it won't be long before Valka can do it."

Stoick rose to switch places with Lundy, kissing Hiccup softly on his head.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he moved towards the steps.

"Don't you dare wake her up," Lundy warned.

"Don't worry Lundy, I won't."

* * *

Valka was already awake when he reached the top of the steps. His surprised smile faltered.

"Val? Dear, what's wrong?"

"He's…he's not…"

"Hiccup's right downstairs. I saw him not even a minute ago. Lundy's feeding him."

Valka coughed a sob, her lips quivering. She looked worse than before.

"I need him here."

"It's warmer downstairs-"

"Then I'll go down-"

"Valka-"

"No!" She pushed Stoick's comforting hand away, "No don't tell me to stay! He needs me!"

"Alright, alright," he sat down beside her, his hands pressing gently on her trembling shoulders. "After he's done eating I'll take you downstairs. He's really alright Val. Talk to me. What happened?"

Her forehead came to rest against his chest. Her hair was still damp from her bath.

"Nightmare."

"Oh…" with a sigh he cupped her chin to bring her mouth to his. He tasted her tears.

"I'm sorry Val. It was a nightmare. Hiccup is still here, he's still with us. He's downstairs eating and hiccupping and stretching out his little arms and legs. Your mother adores him, she held him and fawned over him like any grandmother would."

Valka nodded stiffly against his chest.

"Cold…"

"You're cold? Do you want me to fetch another blanket-?"

"No… _he_ was so cold…"

"Val," he held her at arm's length. Her eyes were glazed over, her skin pale, "Val, look at me."

Her eyes could not focus.

"Hiccup's right downstairs, okay? He's safe, he's warm. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare."

"It felt so real…"

"I know," he pulled her in tight, squeezing through his heartache, "I know, love."

She sobbed then, powerful seizing sobs that sent a chill down Stoick's spine. All he could do was hold her as tightly as he was able, whisper gentle words whenever they came to mind. He let her cry; she needed to cry. Part of him needed to hear her cry, needed to hear her pain, her anguish. He made a vow as he held her that he would never forgive himself for what had happened.

Despite Valka's insistence, the fault was his and his alone.


	31. Mothers

"He's not taking!"

"Relax yourself. Guide him to you, gently."

Valka groaned in frustration, her head bumping against the headboard. She felt the annoying pressure in her eyes that foreshadowed tears, but refused to let herself cry. She had done enough damn crying in the past two weeks. She wanted to be a mother to her son.

Ursula sighed, her lips pressed thinly together.

"You need to be patient with him-"

"If he's hungry he should just eat!"

"He will Vally, he's just-"

"Just what? Not used to me?" Valka snapped, "Should we go get Lundy then? He'll nurse for her!"

Another long exhale from her mother, followed by a feeble cry at her breast.

"I know Hiccup, I know you're hungry. But you've just got to eat. Please, eat for Mama."

This enticed another sniffle from Hiccup that preceded an ear piercing wail.

"Oh Frigg!" Valka wanted to scream. She clenched her lips together and puffed out her anger.

Hiccup scrunched up his face, his little nose flaring with agitation. Valka cuddled him closer, tempting him with the smell of her milk, but he did not budge. His tiny lungs released all of his air into a shriek. He was turning red.

"Hiccup please, _please_!"

"Valka stop," Ursula reached for her grandson. "You're going to hurt him."

"He has to eat-"

"If he gets too worked up he won't be able to eat at all. He's stressed-"

"Well he's not the only one!"

Ursula took a half step back, her gray eyes pensive. This was not her Valka, not her sweet baby girl. Her Valka would cry yes, and get angry…but this ire was deep seeded. She had lost weight, not just because she was no longer pregnant. Her cheekbones stood out prominently, her eyes were too big and glassy on her face. Her lips were chapped and peeling. Her hair was limp in its braid. Gone was the playfulness of her voice: it was bitter like poison. She had heard of this happening to new mothers, but she had never witnessed it. She had certainly not been expecting it in her own daughter.

"Valka…" Ursula exhaled, trying to remain calm, "Please, give Hiccup to me."

"Why? So you can take him to Lundy?"

"If it means he gets to eat, then yes."

"Why don't you just tell Lundy to keep him then, since she's doing such a great job?"

Valka surrendered Hiccup. He quieted in Ursula's feeble arms, his dark eyes staring up at her in uncertainty. Ursula managed a small smile, and gently placed Hiccup in his cradle. He fussed slightly at his newfound loneliness, but he did not cry.

"Is that what you think would be best?"

"It's what everyone else thinks," Valka curled up, throwing the blanket over top of her.

"I certainly don't think that," Ursula sat on the edge of the bed. Her back ached terribly, the blackness spreading throughout her chest…but she would not surrender. Valka needed her. "Has anyone told you that's what they think?"

No response. Valka ducked her head under the quilt.

"Stoick doesn't think less of you, he just wants what's best for Hiccup."

"Then Hiccup should be with Lundy."

"Vally-"

"He doesn't like me."

"Of course he likes you. He loves you. That's what babies do: they love."

"No, he doesn't know who I am."

"He's two weeks old-"

"That doesn't matter, Mother," her glare was icy cold. "He sees Lundy more than he sees me. He sees _Stoick_ more than he sees me."

"He gets what he needs to survive."

"Because I couldn't do a good enough job."

The words cut through Ursula like a jagged knife.

"Valka…"

"He hates me because he knows it's _my_ fault he's so small."

"How could he possibly know that?"

She shrugged her shoulders. The clear mind of Valka had become victim of her depression.

Ursula had to turn away to hide her tears. Valka may know she was close to losing her son, but she did not know, could not know how close Ursula was to losing her daughter. There had been so much blood: the fall onto her belly had ruptured something deep within her. Her labor had been quick, too quick compared to others. Valka's cries of anguish sounded as though the girl was being torn apart from the inside out, but that was nothing compared to the despair on her face as she watched in horror as Stoick had tried to revive the baby. If any person could die from a broken heart, Ursula was certain it would have been Valka, had Hiccup not made that tiny little hiccup.

Even still, Valka was not the same. In a way, Ursula _had_ lost her daughter.

"Vally, my darling girl, look at me," Ursula choked up, " _Please_."

Her cool green-gray eyes glanced over, only to dart back into the void.

Ursula inhaled deeply, ignoring the pain it brought her.

"You had a sister you know," Ursula began somberly.

Valka lifted her head slightly.

"What?"

"Aye...you were still a baby yourself. Not even two. Your father and I were so happy: we had both wanted a big family. But your sister…she was called away before she drew her first breath. She was born early, not as early as Hiccup, but still early. She came too fast for anyone to assist except your father. Her eyes never opened, and she was so still…"

Ursula gasped slightly, the memory still vivid in her mind.

"We had a funeral for her…just your father and me and a handful of others. Spitelout asked about her, but the memories seem to have been lost to the ages for him. At the time, I blamed myself…what did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? Though the truth was and always will be that some things just happen. There's no reason. There's no earthly explanation."

She rose stiffly, and padded over to the cradle. Hiccup had fallen asleep, his tiny toes curling.

"Even if you hadn't fallen, who is to say that Hiccup still wouldn't have come early? You cannot speculate Valka, you can't sit around and ponder 'what if?'" You'll go mad if you do that; trust me, I know. All you can do is stare at that little face of his and cherish the fact that he's here. Circumstances aside, you and Hiccup are both _here_."

With the utmost care, Ursula picked Hiccup up. She kissed his tiny upturn nose, watched as his pouty pink lips opened and closed with a breath. His fuzzy red hair stuck straight up. Ursula loved this boy so much, the pain of her love was indescribable.

"I know that you are stronger than the sadness that grips you Vally," she touched her daughter's shoulder, coaxing her to turn back over. "You only have to show yourself that you are."

With wide, frightened eyes, Valka gazed up at her mother. Ursula placed Hiccup into his mother's arms, causing a frenzy in the wee babe's world. He squealed in uncertainty, thrashing his head about as his nose scrunched. Ursula smiled sadly, wondering if he would inherit Valka's expressions.

"Shh, shh love, I'm here," Valka whispered. Hiccup stilled at the sound of his mother's voice. With trembling hands, Valka undid her top and guided her son to her breast. She waited, adjusted, waited, and adjusted…until she sighed in relief.

"There we go, that's my boy," Valka threw her head back, tears welling in her eyes, "That's my sweet, darling boy."

Ursula pecked her daughter on her temple.

"Keep being the fighter we know you are," she whispered.

She had meant it for Valka, but Valka had misunderstood her.

"He will."


	32. Grief

**I started this chapter weeks ago...but between work and writer's block it's been difficult to finish! Alas, it is finally done, and the story marches on!**

* * *

The first time Hiccup left the confines of Haddock Hall was for his grandmother's funeral. He was two months old and tiny. Had he not come into the world early, his grandmother would have never held him, never kissed him, or sang him lullabies. She never would have seen her daughter become a mother through pain and heartache, would have never seen Valka's unyielding strength. Fate worked in a funny, cruel way.

Valka shivered, pulling the furs closer around her and Hiccup. The winter season was over, but the cold had lingered. The waves crashing against the shore threatened to crystalize with ice. The blossoms on the trees had been frightened into hiding. Winter, despite the turning of the calendar, had decided to linger, but it didn't matter to Valka: she was already numb.

Hiccup snuffled against her chest, not out of hunger but out of the need for touch, for the reassurance that someone was there. Valka tucked her finger underneath the straps that held him to her, and brushed her finger against his cheek. She heard his lips smack, felt his petite left foot kick against her.

The past two days had been a hurricane of emotion.

Hiccup was the tether holding Valka down to earth.

"Goodbye, Mum…" Valka whispered to the winds. Smoke billowed into the sky from the burning ship, the orange glow of the flames hazy. The village had considered a pyre funeral, but Stoick had insisted upon a boat burning for his mother-in-law, for the grandmother of Chiefs.

The mast toppled over, the wood having burned through. It would be over soon, but Valka felt her heels bury in the sand, sinking with every second.

 _"I'm sorry Valka."_

 _"She was a great woman."_

 _"She was my friend. I'll miss her."_

Formless faces passed by with their condolences, but most of them just wanted a peek at the Chief's son. His naming ceremony had been small and intimate, inside the house instead of among the villagers. They had kept Hiccup as his name, for Valka had agreed that the name fit him perfectly. This was the nosy villagers' chance to see the son of Stoick the Vast, but Valka did not grant many the privilege.

"He's so small," someone had blurted out.

Valka had wanted to say: _He was born two months early, but thank you for pointing that out…_

But instead she had said: "Yes."

She kissed Hiccup's head. His wild red hair had thinned out weeks ago, but now a patch of downy auburn had taken its place. His eyes had even begun to lighten, though they remained a grayish blue. Stoick had suspected that Hiccup would have Valka's features, but she was not quite sure. His nose resembled Stoick's and his smile…oh how Valka loved that smile.

"How are you doing?" A voice said at her shoulder.

Spite.

"I don't know," Valka whispered. Only a handful of mourners remained. She was grateful for the solitude. "The same."

"Hm," Spite reached down to rub his knuckle against Hiccup's cheek. Hiccup blinked, his eyes scrunching up in amusement. "I guess I should ask how this guy is doing instead huh?"

"Happy as can be," Valka responded, "Exploring this big world…didn't think he'd be out so soon."

"He'll be fine Vally. Fresh, salty air…it's good for a Viking boy."

Valka glanced up. Spitelout had tears strolling down his cheeks.

"Oh Spite…"

"I know," he sniffed, "The only mother I ever knew, and damn she was a good one."

"The best," Valka leaned her head against her brother's shoulder.

"We'll be alright."

"Will we?"

"Yeah," Spitelout draped his arm over her shoulders, "She raised us. Of course we'll be alright."

Valka chuckled weakly before succumbing to her tears. Spitelout pulled her in for a tight hug, only for Hiccup to squeak in distress. Spitelout jumped back.

"Oops, sorry Squirt."

Valka smiled: Spitelout adored Hiccup.

"Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma ma…" a chattering voice repeated. Spitelout rolled his eyes, though they were full of pride. Snotlout had recently discovered the word "ma" and he wanted the entire world to know it.

"I keep telling him to say da, but does he listen?"

He reached out for Lundy, who passed Snotlout into his arms.

"He's all yours Spite," she grumbled, rubbing at the circles beneath her eyes. "I'm ma-ed out."

"MA!"

Hiccup raised his head slightly, searching for the source of the noise. Snotlout stared at his cousin in confusion, though his mouth continued to spurt out repetitions of "ma." Their meetings had been few and far in between due to Hiccup's size and Snotlout's…spirit.

Lundy peeked in to where Hiccup was hiding.

"Hello there! Welcome to the big outside world!"

He cooed at seeing his Aunt Lundy and hearing her high voice.

"He won't be the smallest one in a few weeks," Lundy continued.

Valka nodded: Odina was reaching her due date. The shield maiden hadn't slept in weeks, for the babe she carried was restless and active. Of course, she couldn't have been prouder at carrying a fighter...but Aron Hofferson had grown panicked at the implications of a warrior baby...especially if it was a girl.

 _"Imagine, two headstrong women in my house!"_ he had declare, " _I'd be doomed!"_

Surprisingly, a few weeks ago Hilly and Tuffnut had announced that they were expecting. Hilly was already sporting a mound of a bump, and took to resting things on it for entertainment.

"I should be getting back," Valka said quietly, "He'll want to feed soon."

"Will we see you at supper?" Lundy asked. Valka shook her head. "Valka…"

"I'll be alright. Stoick will bring me something home."

"Okay…if you're sure. You know you have to eat…"

"I know Lunds, I know," she gave another quick embrace to both of them, and tickled Snotlout's protruding belly before wandering up the slope towards the village. She couldn't deal with the outside world anymore today. She wanted her bed, sleep, and Hiccup's sweet smiles.

"Valka?"

She turned, guarding Hiccup with her hand. Standing between two houses, was Phlegma.

"Oh, Phlegma. You startled me," Valka relaxed but only slightly. The warrior woman still rubbed her the wrong way. Phlegma cleared her throat, brushing an imaginary strand of blonde hair back into her tight bun. Her eyes were rimmed with red…had she been crying?

"I just, I wanted to say that…"

Her hard face softened, crumpling into an expression of anguish. Phlegma the Fierce was sobbing.

"Hey, hey, Phlegma. It's…it'll be okay…"

Despite the awkwardness of her limbs, Valka wrapped an arm around Phlegma.

"She…she was my friend…a really good friend."

"I know. She was fond of you…you took good care of her."

"Not good enough," Phlegma mumbled. "On the battlefield I can protect my friends from enemies I can see…but I couldn't protect Ursula…what kind of warrior am I?"

"The best kind, I promise you. You were there for her when Lundy and I couldn't be."

"She was all I had-"

"That's not true-"

"It is true!" Phlegma shouted, "You all went and got married and had babies, but I never wanted that life. I loved our little house, with all of us girls living together, and then when your mum came in…it just felt right you know? Peaceful…like I didn't have to be a warrior all the time, I could let my guard down. But now, I'm in that house alone, and I don't know where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do…and I just _miss_ her Valka. It wasn't a husband I came home to, it was your mother…but now I just come home to darkness."

She retracted, wiping away her tears.

"Sorry. Gods, she's _your_ mum and here I am bawling over her like I have the right to-"

"But you do Phlegma, I'm not cross at you for mourning her," Valka smirked, "Honestly I'm just pleased to see that you have emotions other than anger."

The shield maiden snorted a laugh, "Sometimes I forget too."

* * *

" _My dearest one my darling dear, your mighty words astound me...but I've no need of mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me…"_ Valka laid on her side, head propped up against her hand as she rubbed the full, warm belly of her baby boy. Hiccup's eyes were growing heavy, yet he kept his gaze focused on his mother as she sang him a lullaby. He was uncovered save for the cloth around his hips, laying on top of a fur. Valka had discovered that Hiccup enjoyed the touch of her hand against his bare skin, and he slept better when undressed. She had been cautious, fearful of the cold…but Hiccup had proven to be quite the robust little warrior.

" _But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry, and I will keep_ you _from all harm, if_ you _will stay beside me…_ " at the word 'you,' she tapped a finger against Hiccup's button nose, enticing a toothless crooked grin. His mouth widened into a perfect "O," as he unleashed a mighty yawn.

Valka hummed the remainder of the melody as Hiccup drifted off to sleep. Despite his troubling start, he was a good baby, a happy baby. Valka felt blessed.

"Sleep well my love," she kissed his brow softly, before maneuvering carefully off the bed.

She had work to do.

Slipping down the steps, Valka sighed as she noticed the intruder in the house: a trunk containing her mother's belongings. It had been delivered yesterday, though Valka had procrastinated in opening and rifling through the treasures. She had wanted her mother to ascend into Valhalla before she did the invasive task of sorting and categorizing her mother's life.

But that day had come.

"Alright Mum," Valka exhaled as she opened the trunk. Inside she found clothes, her scent still lingering on the fabric, kitchen items, the apron she had sewed her, and a smaller, more ornate box.

Puzzled, Valka opened it. Inside were dozens of pieces of parchment, the kohl having rubbed off and faded into gray. Valka could see bits and pieces of what she assumed were the older ones.

"Daddy," she gasped, recognizing her father's handwriting. Investigating further, she saw the makings of an old love note from Smitelout to Ursula!

 _I know that we have only just met, but I feel an attachment to you that I have never felt with anyone before…not even Thorgrima. I need to see you again, and soon, and even that won't be enough._ "Wow Dad," Valka chuckled at her father's sentimentality. The rest of the letter had faded, so she moved onto the next one.

This one was far less charming.

 _Cousin, congratulations on your bastard babe. You may have fooled everyone but you have not fooled me. Remember what your charlatan husband promised. Remember what you signed away the moment he—_

Disgusted, Valka crumpled up that letter in tossed it into the hearth.

Mercer was gone. That was all that mattered.

Inside the box there was a drawing of a baby: wide eyed and bald. Underneath in runes was her name: Valka Jorgenson.

She could see resemblances between the infant version of herself and her Hiccup. Valka felt proud that her son shared some of her features, but found herself wondering what Stoick looked like as an infant.

Curiously, there was something written on the back, another note.

 _My beloved Valka,_ the note began in her mother's hand.

 _In the midst of darkness and uncertainty, you are our guiding light. Love brought you into this world and love will keep you safe. You are so young, so small, yet so strong and so very loved. I love you more and more with each passing day. Your father cherishes you, and your brother Spitelout adores you. We do not yet know what the all father has in store for you, but I believe that you will achieve wonders my darling girl. Know this and remember this always…your Mama._

"Oh Mum…" Valka held the letter against her heart to shield it from her tears.

Her mother had been laid to rest today. She had passed two days ago.

Wife, mother, grandmother, friend.

Valka held her mother's memory in her hands.

How long would it be until she could no longer remember the sound of her voice, of her laugh? How long would it take until she would no longer feel the ghostly touch of her hands through her hair, or her kiss on her brow? Valka knew that this was inevitable…even now she had a difficult time recalling her father's voice…but oh how she wished she could freeze the memories forever, and keep them safe.

"Val?"

Valka jumped, defending her precious discovery against her chest. Stoick was in the threshold, his shoulders squared, as though he was on alert, waiting for an ambush. Valka spotted something in his clutches…a bunch of wildflowers that had survived winter's lingering grasp. They were yellow, sunshine in his palm.

"You startled me," Valka neatly, delicately put the sketch back into the box.

"Sorry," Stoick removed his helmet, his cloak. He was dressed in his finery today, "I thought you'd be resting."

"Couldn't even attempt to," she stood, legs weak from kneeling.

"Do you-"

"No, I'm fine. Just stiff," Valka leaned against the wall until feeling returned to her legs.

"I um...I brought you these," Stoick held out the blossoms. Valka could smell their sweet scent, the promise of summer in the air. "Thought they might…help."

"They're lovely," Valka took them, surprised at Stoick's stiffness, "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stared at one another, Stoick's eyes practically blank beneath his thick brows.

"I'm um…" Valka began, placing the flowers on the table, "I'm going to go check on Hiccup-"

"No, I'll do it," Stoick touched her shoulder, but retracted. "You just sit, rest."

"But I-"

He had already gone up the steps, leaving Valka alone once more.

With a sigh, Valka searched for something to put her lovely flowers in, settling on an old glass vase that had turned slightly purple from age. She fetched water from the bucket by the door and pulled off the leaves one by one, scattering them on the floor between her feet. She felt an ache in her jaw and realized she had been grinding her teeth.

When Stoick returned, she murmured her question towards him.

"Why are you being so cold?"

He paused on the steps. While upstairs he had removed his shoes and had changed into a plain tunic, dissolving his chief persona into his husband and father persona.

"I'm not?"

"You are," Valka huffed, placing the flowers on the windowsill. "I'm not made of glass."

"I just want to give you space-"

"You're giving me all the space in Midgard Stoick-"

"Maybe that's because I don't want to screw up again-"

That gave Valka pause, "Screw up?"

"Aye," he sat down heavily in his chair, "Val, the past two months…I've watched you endure more than any young woman should endure. For a while I thought…"

"Thought…what exactly?"

"That you were broken."

"That's ridiculous-"

"Val…there were times when you couldn't even look at Hiccup. You just laid there, staring into nothing, even when he was crying. It was…scary."

"But I'm past that now-"

"I know…but I also know that it was _your mother_ who helped you come back to life."

He stood, his hands out in front of him, as if he was going to wrap his arms around her…but he resisted. "I know what it's like to lose a mother…but you lost your mother when you need her the most. She brought you out of the darkness, and I…I'm the fool who's probably going to mess up by doing or saying something stupid so you sink back into the darkness, and I _can't -_ "

He gasped, his voice catching in his throat.

Valka threw herself forward, pressing her body against him.

"I'm not going anywhere," she insisted, "I'm not leaving you and Hiccup. I refuse."

She fastened a small braid into Stoick's beard, her eyes never leaving his.

"My mother told me that I am stronger than my sadness…and she was right. She was _always_ right, and she always will be right," she finished the first braid, then started a second one. "I can be sad, but I cannot let it consume me…that's why I _need_ you here Stoick. That's why I don't want you to distance yourself from me. It'll take time for my grief to start lessening, but you're not losing me to anything…so don't make me lose _you_."

Stoick's arms found her waist.

"Oh Val…I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she pressed her lips against his. Despite the unyielding grief and the threatening tears, Valka smiled.

"What is it?" Stoick asked.

"Nothing…just that, as much as I love kissing our son…I miss kissing my husband."

Stoick chuckled, "Your husband is more than happy to participate."


	33. For Him

"Oh Dina, she's _beautiful_!"

Odina Hofferson beamed as she held her newborn daughter to her chest. White feathery hair adorned the babe's head like a crown, with eyebrows and eyelashes so pale they almost looked like starlight.

"Thank you Lundy," Odina said proudly. The girls of their group had gathered in the Hofferson household, after receiving word that Odina had given birth during the night. The labor had been quick, as though the little one had been fighting to be free.

"What does Aron think?" Solfrid asked.

"Oh, he said he's a goner," Odina rolled her eyes, "he's already calling her princess. Ha!"

"Men are soft with their daughters," Hilly offered. Solfrid and Phlegma grimaced. Valka recollected the stories they had shared about their hard handed, hard spoken father, and shivered.

"Well, she'll be a warrior first," Odina pulled the blanket down off her daughter's face, revealing pink pouting lips, "My little Astrid."

Though Valka smiled and fawned over the newborn, she felt dejected. The babe was Hiccup's size, though Hiccup was three months older. She knew what happened to runty lambs: they were cast out of the herd, shunned by their peers, and left behind.

 _Not him,_ she prayed, _not my baby._

"Vally?" Lundy touched her hand, bringing her back. "You okay?"

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm fine."

"We'll leave you two to rest," Lundy turned back to Odina, giving her friend a gentle hug. The girls left the Hofferson house and went off in their separate directions, though Lundy followed closely behind Valka.

"You sure you're alright?"

"I'm fine Lunds. I just miss Hiccup."

"I'm sure he's fine, he's with Stoick isn't he?"

"Yes but," Valka sighed, "I just don't like being away from him."

"Ohhh I understand completely. This morning when I left Snotty-"

"No, no, no, you don't understand," Valka groaned in vexation. "Your son is strong and healthy and _normal_ …Hiccup is... not. Odina's newborn is practically bigger than he is—I panic whenever I can't see him or get to him in a moment's notice. He _needs_ me. If I'm not there and something happens-"

"Valka stop," Lundy grabbed her wrists, forcing her to pause. "Hiccup is _fine_. He's made it this far…he's past the biggest hurdle. He's just small."

"Too small-"

"All babies are small. All babies grow at different rates, but not _all_ babies are the son of the chief."

* * *

"VALKA!"

Her heart froze the moment she opened the door into her house. She could hear Stoick's booming voice…a volume usually reserved for battles or chaotic council meetings. Terrible images flew across her mind…Hiccup hurt…Hiccup unconscious…Hiccup turning blue…

"Valcomehereyougottacomeseethis!"

Oh…he was excited.

Still shaken, Valka shut the door and entered into the great room of their house. Stoick was laying on his stomach with the biggest grin imaginable. Hiccup was right in front of him, also on his stomach…his tiny head held up high.

"Look at him Val!" Stoick chortled, "He hasn't put his head down all morning!"

"Oh Stoick..." she smiled, her relief palpable. "You're going to tire him out doing that…" Valka laid down besides her husband. Hiccup's eyes changed direction, meeting hers. He responded with a toothless grin that reached all the way up into his eyes, making him squint.

"Hello my darling," Valka's heart practically melted at his wide smile, "Having fun with Daddy?"

"He hasn't cried at all, we've just been laying here having manly discussions."

Valka rolled her eyes, "I've heard your baby-talk voice…it's not very manly."

Hiccup squeaked a tiny, "ooh," as he laid his head down to chew on his hand. Valka petted the top of his head, where there was now a nest of silky auburn down.

"He'll want to nurse soon," she whispered, enchanted by the babe before her.

"How's Odina?"

"Good. She has a baby girl. Astrid."

Stoick chuckled, rolling onto his side, his hand on her hip.

"Should I draw up a marriage contract?" He winked.

"Oh stop it," Valka whacked her husband's arm lightly, giggling. "She's a pretty babe though. Big."

"Knowing Odina she'll make a shield maiden out of her before she can walk."

"Aron is quite taken with her."

"Well what father wouldn't be with their own—ugh!" Stoick groaned suddenly. Beneath Hiccup's face was a puddle of white spit up.

"Oh stop being such a baby," Valka reached over, scooping Hiccup up before he could lay his face down into the mess. "Can you get a rag and clean that spot up?"

"It smells-"

"It's spit up…honestly, you can disembowel a dragon, but you can't clean up your own son's spit?"

Stoick fetched a rag from beside the hearth, wiping away at the floor. Hiccup watched with curious eyes, his hand finding and clutching at Valka's dress.

"Oh…um…" Stoick began, muttering, "About that…"

"What? Spit up?"

"No…dragons."

"What?"

"We er… we decided that we're going to set off again in a few weeks-"

"What…?"

"We know where the nest is Val-"

"You have an _idea_ of where the nest is Stoick…you've never actually found it."

"We will this time."

"That's what you said the last time, and the time before that…and all of the times…"

"I mean it this time."

Valka gripped Hiccup tightly, protectively in her arms.

"You have a _child_ now Stoick. You know how few of you come back from those trips."

"I always do though-"

"Well one day you might not! Who knows, maybe one day none of you will make it back! Then where would we be? Your infant son would become Chief in place of his father…Snotlout would be without his father, Astrid would be an orphan…I would be without both my husband _and_ my brother…"

"Val, really. You're being ridiculous."

" _I'm_ being ridiculous?" She scoffed, "Oh no my dear, I'm being realistic."

"Realistic? Who keeps saying that we 'don't have to fight dragons?'?"

"That's different! We _don't-_ "

"You don't know that!"

"And _you_ don't know where the nest is!"

Hiccup whimpered in Valka's arms. She bounced him gently, shushing him until he calmed. She could not say the same for herself: "We don't need to kill the dragons, Stoick. We don't have to fight them. They're just as protective of their kind as we are of our own. If you go onto their territory…Ragnarok will be what greets you."

With a sigh, Stoick stood. He kissed Hiccup's head swiftly, before locking eyes with his wife.

"The council has already decided that we'll ship off in about two weeks. We put it to a vote…" he exhaled, "I voted to stay here, but I was outnumbered."

"You voted against-?"

"Aye. I did…because the last thing I want to do is leave you and our son…but I'm the Chief Val, and a Chief protects his people." He relaxed slightly, running his hand against Valka's cheek. "Maybe you're right…maybe we've misjudged our enemies…but we can't sit around trying to figure it out, not when we have a war going on. I don't know. I'm not smart like you-"

"Stoick-"

"I'm not the one you need to convince Val, it's everyone else."

"Then I'll do it. I'll figure things out. I'll get the fighting to _stop_."

"How?"

Valka sat on her chair, noticing Hiccup nudging her in hunger. Before he could cry she held him to her breast and began to nurse.

"I can tell them about the night of Mercer's attack-"

"No. Out of the question. You'll be charged with treason-"

"It was _years_ ago Sto, and besides I'm _your wife_."

"You weren't back then though."

She sighed, "What would you suggest then?"

"I don't know Val…I've never thought about it. Never had to," with a sigh he knelt before her, his eyes beseeching. "Dear…don't do this for my sake. I'll be alright. I'll come back home."

"Your sake?" Valka scoffed, "Stoick I'm not doing it for your sake. I'm doing it for all of our sakes, dragon and Vikings alike. I'm doing it because it's the right thing," she glanced down at her contented son, nestled in a cocoon of impenetrable safety at her breast. Red tinted images of Hiccup brandishing a sword above his head as he clashed with dragons, unleashing a fierce battle cry haunted her. Her Hiccup, her miracle babe, her _son_ , would not—no, _could_ not be like that. Not this innocent, curious babe.

No, she had to try to stop the fighting, for him.


	34. Sword and Shield

"Mama is almost done, my love," Valka sang merrily, her attention half on her watchful son, the other half on the needlework in front of her. Hiccup was trying, and failing, to get his left foot into his mouth to suck on his toes. They had been the latest in a series of discoveries he had made in Stoick's absence. Valka sighed in vexation as she finished her row of stitches, starting the next one.

Two months. Stoick had vowed to return within a month…yet two months later he still hadn't. She knew he was alive and well…a message had arrived a few days after their scheduled return. Apparently there had been a series of storms around Helheim's Gate that had prevented them from entering…so the ships had sought shelter on a nearby island until they could resupply and rethink. The inhabitants of that island had fortunately been hospitable…but the long absence of Stoick had made Valka irritable. It was unnecessary after all, this fool's errand. Unfortunately no one else on Berk believed her.

"It's the stress of raising a babe alone," someone had suggested.

"Especially a runt," another had hissed.

Valka had huffed. They wouldn't have suggested those things had Stoick been home…would they?

"D-d-d!" Hiccup bubbled on their floor, chattering to nothing and everything. Valka smiled.

"Mama, Hiccup. Mama," she repeated. So far the "d" sound had been the only consonant sound he could manage. Valka was becoming desperate for a "Mama."

"There now," Valka placed her needle in the cushion and inspected her handiwork. She had created a toy for Hiccup, a small stuffed dragon with button eyes, made from blue fabric left over from Astrid's naming ceremony. She had sewn Hiccup's name in runes on either side of the dragon, and had even managed to add some horns, spikes, wings, and a round bulbous nose.

"Hiccup…" she called. Hiccup turned, his ears picking up on the sound of his mother's voice.

"D!" he grinned, a droplet of drool slipping out from the corner of his mouth.

"Mama," Valka correctly gently. "Look what Mama made for you, love."

She held the stuffed dragon in front of Hiccup, just beyond his reaching fingers.

"Ooh," Hiccup looked, his eyes round and focused. He reached for the toy, his fingers clutching at the fabric. Valka let him have it…only for it to slip from both of their grasps and fall onto Hiccup's face!

In an instant, the curious smile of his vanished into a quivering lower lip. His eyes began to water...

"Oh, oh no Hiccup, oh Hiccup."

The babe wailed as though he had experienced the greatest tragedy in the history of Midgard.

"What did you do?"

Valka looked up: Lundy and Odina had arrived, accompanied by their children. Snotlout was toddling on unsteady, chubby legs, while Odina held the golden haired Astrid protectively to her chest.

"The toy fell on him," Valka explained, scooping Hiccup up, "Startled him."

She bent over, reaching for the stuffed dragon, holding it out for Hiccup again.

"It's alright my love, see? The dragon won't hurt you-"

He screeched, burying his head into his mother's neck. The sound of his crying made Astrid fuss and Snotlout whimper.

"Thanks Valka…" Odina rolled her eyes, bouncing her daughter.

"Okay, okay, you're okay. I'll put it away, okay?" She stuffed it behind a pillow, out of sight, "There now, the dragon's all gone? Bye bye dragon."

"D-" Hiccup sniffled.

Valka exhaled, kissing the crown of her son's head. The world was quiet once more. Lundy and Odina had remained in her doorway, stiff and still.

"Not that I mind the company…" Valka began coolly, "But why are you two here again?"

"Hilly's ankles are swollen so she's home resting, and Solfrid is sick again," Lundy explained. Hilly was more than halfway through her pregnancy, and Solfrid had developed horrible morning sickness before she even had the chance to announce that she was pregnant.

"Okay…that still doesn't explain why you're here."

Odina and Lundy glanced at one another.

"Can we sit?" Lundy asked.

Already anticipating the direction of this conversation, Valka sighed and gestured to the chairs available. She placed Hiccup back on the floor between her legs to support his unsteady sitting. Snotlout stomped over and plopped down in front of his cousin, sucking his thumb. Odina carefully place Astrid on her belly on the floor so that she too could interact with her peers.

"Cup," Snotlout pointed, smacking Hiccup on the head, "Cup."

"Snotty, gentle," Lundy scorned.

Snoutlout smacked him again before crawling off.

Hiccup glanced up at Valka, the exasperation evident in his features. Valka giggled, imagining her son speaking in a deadpan voice: "Really Mama? Really?"

"So," she shook her head, focusing. "What have I done wrong now?"

"Wrong? Vally who said you did anything-"

"You screwed up," Odina answered stiffly, "Big time."

"Dina!"

Valka crossed her arms, "Is this about what I said at the hall last night?"

"Yes…and every night before that…"

"What Odina _means_ to say," Lundy hissed, "Is that you're making enemies Valka…and that's not good, especially not for the Chief's wife."

"All I said was that I think it's stupid for them to go to the nest and stir up a fight."

"Why? It's exactly what the dragons do to us."

"Vally, we've been _over this_ …" Lundy sighed, "I told you, it's not just you anymore."

"What do you think everyone is going to say when he's older, huh?" Odina began, "That he's the son of a dragon sympathizer? Friends with the enemy? It's bad enough he's so small. Believe me, the _only_ thing he has going for him is that he's Stoick's son-"

"ODINA!"

"How _dare_ you," Valka snatched up Hiccup, standing so that she towered over the other women.

"She didn't mean it like that-!"

"That's exactly how I meant it," Odina stood to meet her, "If you raise your son with your ideologies, it impacts everyone on this island, and if one day he becomes the _chief-_ "

"Then he'll be able to see all sides of the situation, and think with his head, not with his fists."

"That is _not_ the leader we need-"

"He—is—a—baby!" Valka shouted, "None of this matters now!"

"If our husbands don't return-"

"They are coming home! They are!" Lundy cried.

"Everyone knows that you sympathize with the dragons," Odina straightened, "and everyone knows that your son is never more than a few feet away from you…connect the pieces Valka. He'll be like you, and with his position he'll put us all in danger, and I will not have _my daughter_ associated with him, or follow him as a leader."

"What don't you understand," Valka's jaw began to throb from the grinding of her teeth. The line in her forehead was practically a canyon. "I don't _care_ if my son becomes Chief or not, and I'm not throwing my beliefs at him!"

"Then what do you call this?" Odina found the stuffed dragon tucked behind a pillow.

Hiccup whimpered at the sight of the toy.

"What was I supposed to make him, a sheep? A fish?"

"Dina stop it, you're scaring him."

"I've stood by and watched you for too long Valka," Odina tossed the toy aside. Lundy had gathered Astrid into her lap, as Snotlout cowered in confusion at the shouting. "You were always weird, but your weirdness never affected me…but now it does. Whatever your son will do will affect Astrid-"

"I'm sure your daughter will be more than capable of thinking for herself, just like _my son-_ "

"End this now Valka. Stop the preaching, stop the protesting and just _stop_."

"Funny," Valka huffed, "I could say the same to you."

She placed Hiccup on the chair and stomped over to the door.

"But now I am inviting both of you to leave my house."

"What?" Lundy whimpered, "Vally, I didn't do anything-"

"You know why she came here, and I know you feel the same way that she does-"

"I-"

"Please just leave, all of you."

"You just don't like hearing the truth-"

" _I SAID JUST LEAVE!"_

Valka smoldered as the women collected their children. Lundy gave a longing, sorrowful glance at Hiccup, who held his arms out for his aunt as she passed. Odina stuck her nose high in the air, dragging Lundy along behind her. Curious onlookers watched as the scene unfolded, with looks of confusion and disdain. She could hear whispers…jeers…boos...

" _DRAGON LOVER!_ "

Valka slammed the door shut and locked it. For good measure she even propped a chair up against it so that no one would dare enter. She drew the curtains closed and collected Hiccup, carrying him upstairs.

She saved her tears until Hiccup was nestled in his cradle, and she could fall onto her bed.

"Oh Hiccup…" she cried, clutching her pillow to her stomach.

Hiccup cooed softly. She could see his hands poking up from the edge of the cradle, searching for something to grab onto.

When she leaned over to glance at him, his smile broadened.

"D-d-d!" He chirped.

Valka only shook her head.

"Oh my darling boy…I'm so sorry," she brought his fist to her lips and kissed it. "I'm sorry that you're so small…I'm sorry that you have me for a mother…I'm sorry that you're living in this awful, awful world…I'm sorry…for everything."

Hiccup reached for her, and Valka obliged. She held him tightly against her, smelling his sweet scent, feeling the warmth of his skin, how his hair tickled her chin.

"What are we going to do, my love?"

Stoick: Stoick would know what to do.

 _I'm not the one you need to convince Val, it's everyone else._

Everyone else was turning against her, but not Stoick. Stoick was her sword and shield, her protector and defender. Without him, she was as good as a prisoner in her own home. With him home besides her, maybe… _maybe_ things could start to change.

"Oh All Father," she whispered, "Please, bring him home to us. Please."


	35. Prelude

"Valka."

She stirred, her eyes trying and failing to remain closed in the solitude of slumber, but the voice had brought her back into consciousness. She looked first, as she always did now, to Hiccup's cradle, only to see her son fast asleep. Cautiously, she turned over onto her opposite side, to see Stoick kneeling on the bed, reaching out towards her.

"Stoick," she exhaled, lightheaded with relief, "You're home."

"Aye, I am," he pulled her towards him, practically smothering her in his inescapable embrace.

Something was wrong.

"Stoick?"

"Why was the door locked? I knocked for an hour…I had to climb in through a window…"

"Please don't, I don't want to fight. Not now."

"I'm not going to fight. You just scared me Val, and right now-" he paused, clearing his throat.

"Now, what?"

"Nothing. Never mind that."

Valka remained unconvinced. Stoick laid down across the bed, carrying Valka with him until she laid across his torso. His eyes shimmered as he caught a glimpse of Hiccup, his chest rising and falling rhythmically and reassuringly. His tiny snores were practically melodious.

"He's grown."

"That's what happens to babies," Valka wrapped a finger around a curl in Stoick's beard. It had grown too, wilder and bushier.

"Will he recognize me?"

"He's your son, of course he'll recognize you. A son never forgets."

Stoick pressed his lips against her temple, his hands sliding up her slender waist. He sighed.

"You said something to the village…didn't you?"

She nodded her head limply against his chest, "I might have."

"What did you say?"

"Nothing…just that there's got to be a way to stop the fighting. Our warriors go to Helheim's Gate looking for a fight…the dragons come here looking for a fight…it's a never ending cycle of violence and there's got to be a way to break it. It's stupid and unnecessary and it just needs to stop."

Stoick exhaled, she could practically hear the furrowing of his eyebrows.

"That's…a lot more than nothing."

"But it's true. Why can't people see that?"

"Because it's how things are, and how things have always been."

Valka blinked, turning her head so that she faced him directly: "But it doesn't have to be. Peace is possible, I just know it…I just don't think Berk wants that peace."

"Of course we want peace Val-"

"Really? Because it feels like I am quite alone in this…"

Stoick groaned, straightening until he was sitting up, his back against the headboard.

"Do you know how many Vikings I had to set to sea over the past two months? Fourteen."

"Fourteen-"

"Nine just in one night, and do you know what they were doing when they were killed? Nothing. We were ambushed Val…this dragon…gods I've never seen anything like it-"

"Night Fury?"

"No…if it had been one of those we'd have all been sent to Valhalla…no it was this great orange beast, with these haunting yellow eyes…it just attacked us out of nowhere, in the middle of a storm."

"Maybe it was scared?"

"Of _what_?" He growled, "We had no lanterns, no sails…we had been sailing blind Val. We were the least threatening thing in the Archipelago and yet _it_ attacked _us_."

"There had to have been a reason…"

"Well, it cost me nine of some of the best Vikings… and that was the first time it had attacked."

Valka's heart sunk, "The first time?"

"Aye…it had followed us…it wasn't every day though. It was like it had been waiting for us to be at our most vulnerable before it attacked. I've never seen a dragon do that before…"

"They're smart-"

"So you think-"

"So I _know_."

Stoick huffed and Valka relented. She did not wait two months for him to come home just to stir up and argument. Instead she gave him a kiss, quick and chaste, a kiss that caught him by surprise. A kiss that reminded the two of them of their early courtship days avoiding being spotted. Stoick smiled.

"It's all worth it though, coming home to you."

"Even though I made you climb through a window?"

He chuckled, low in his chest. The rumbling was pleasant.

"Aye, even though."

* * *

They made love that evening, hushed and heated and passionate love. How they had missed one another, how their bodies had craved one another, and bent to one another's will. Afterwards, while Stoick dressed in his night clothes, Valka examined the scars that littered his back: some old and white, some new and brown. He was an anthology of a man.

Stoick paused besides Hiccup's cradle. The babe was such a good sleeper, the only noise he had made was the brief sucking of his lips in a dream. Valka thought she spotted tears in Stoick's eyes as he gazed upon their pride and joy.

"I still can't believe he's ours," Stoick whispered. Valka, donning her robe, slipped behind him and wrapped her arms around his chest.

"Ours now and forever," she kissed one of his many scars.

"Is it bad that I want to wake him?"

"No, some days I want to wake him just to see him smile."

As if on cue, Hiccup giggled in his sleep, stretching his thin fingers as if grabbing something.

Stoick practically melted.

"What is he dreaming about?"

"I'm his mother, not a mind reader," Valka chuckled. "He likes funny faces and when I sing. He's not a big fan of clothes when he sleeps, but he loves having his tummy rubbed."

"And this?" Stoick stooped down: the dragon toy was on the floor besides the cradle.

Valka sighed: "I made that for him yesterday. No, it's not because I want him to like dragons-"

"I didn't say-"

"No, but Odina did. She accused me of brainwashing our five month old son."

Stoick frowned, gingerly placing the toy back on the floor.

"Well, I think it's cute…may it be the only dragon he ever likes."

"Lucky for you he's terrified of it."

She had to press her hand to his mouth to keep his laughter quiet.

"Oh hush, he had a traumatic incident-"

"With a toy?"

Valka playfully poked him under the arm, a vulnerable spot for the Viking chief. As payback, Stoick swept Valka up into his arms and gently dropped her on the bed.

"Gods I missed you," he laid down beside her.

"And I missed you…it was…tough here without you."

"Line."

Valka smiled sadly, "It's getting worse. They jeer at me…"

She relayed to Stoick the events that had transpired in his absence, concluding with the horrendous visit from Lundy and Odina. Stoick rubbed his temple.

"I'll talk with Spite and Aron about it in the morning."

"Everyone is entitled to their own opinions-"

"Except for you it seems," Stoick ran his thumb across her knuckles, "I may not agree with you Val, but that doesn't mean your opinion doesn't matter."

Valka's heart fluttered: Oh, how she loved this man. Stubborn as he was, contrarian with her beliefs as he was…she felt valued. She was not the perfect warrior, nor was she the perfect housewife. She was Valka Haddock, and Stoick loved her for that.

He always would.


	36. The Taking

**LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...** _(here comes Cloudjumper!)_

 **THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR...** _(here comes Cloudjumper!)_

 **THAT TRAGIC EVENING...** _(here comes Cloudjumper!)_

 **VALKA'S TAKING!**

 **...**

Yes I'm a Hamilton fan...had to lighten the mood somehow! Yes, this is it ladies and gents, _the_ chapter.

Please read and enjoy, and maybe leave a review?

xoxo

* * *

Hiccup was whimpering.

Valka, yet again revived from her slumber, sat up on her elbows. Hiccup was not in distress, but his head was turning every which way, as if searching for something. Right as she opened her lips to call his name, she felt it.

The vibration of the great horn.

"Stoick-"

Her husband grumbled.

"Stoick, _wake up_."

"Val, I just went to sleep-"

"They're blowing the horn."

Gone was Stoick's sleepiness. He sat bolt upright in bed and sprang out of Valka's tender embrace. He darted over to the window, drawing back a curtain to reveal an ominous orange glow. Not steady and tranquil like a sunrise, but a squall of flame.

"My gods…" he gasped. Before Valka could speak he was throwing on his armor, placing his helmet atop his head. "Val, take Hiccup and get out of here. Don't go to the barn cellar, go into the woods."

Valka had already begun dressing in her leggings, tunic, and fur dress.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

She had witnessed several dragon attacks, but at this one Stoick actually sounded frightened.

"It found us."

"Found us?"

He grabbed her arms and kissed her fully, the butterflies in her stomach migrating into her heart.

"Just take Hiccup and run, okay? I'll find you."

His voice was trembling, just like Valka's hands. "Do you promise?"

"Aye," he kissed her again, quickly. "I promise."

His footsteps were like thunder going down the steps. Valka could already hear him shouting orders: light the torches, hide the sheep, ready the nets. She dared not look outside. Instead, she spoke in a soothing voice to Hiccup as she gathered up whatever she could: the sketch and letter from her mother, the pearl encrusted mirror, the medallion Stoick had given her for their betrothal. Everything else could be replaced, but not those trinkets. She tied them up in a sack and grabbed Hiccup, cradle and all. He whimpered slightly at the toy dragon she stuffed inside, but Valka shushed him gently.

"Come on love, you're alright."

She moved them down the steps, depositing the cradle beside the hearth. They would need food: a hungry mother meant a hungry baby. She stuffed a loaf of bread into the sack and reached for her son.

Something struck the roof.

"NIGHTMARE!" Someone hollered just outside.

Valka froze, hearing the screech of a Monstrous Nightmare. Something crashed to the ground with an earsplitting bang as the voices and screeches became louder.

In that moment, Valka made a mistake she would regret for the rest of her life.

"I'll be right back Hiccup. Mama's coming right back!"

She flew into the inferno.

A Viking held his axe above the downed Nightmare's neck. The Nightmare squealed, frightened and injured, too weak to fight back. She did not know who the Viking was, nor did she care. Her only thought was that she had to stop him.

"Stop!" She pulled at the Viking's arm, "You'll only make it worse!"

She held his arm long enough for the Nightmare to slither free. The Viking sneered at her, cursing her with a gruff "wench," before stomping off to find his next victim. Valka could barely breathe.

A horrible noise grabbed her attention.

"Hiccup-"

Ripping into the roof of their house was a dragon Valka had never seen before.

" _Hiccup!_ "

She ran, her legs heavier than armor. No matter how hard she ran she did not feel any closer.

 _Why did I leave him? Why did I leave him_?

Before the door was fully open, she reached for one of the swords Stoick kept on the wall just inside the threshold. She could not see Hiccup behind the bulk of dragon in front of her. The dragon did not notice her, nor did it hear her quivering breath. It was focused on something else. Something small.

Hiccup.

Valka nearly collapsed. _No Odin please! Not my son!_ She raised the sword awkwardly beside her.

That was when she heard the giggle.

That giggle she had heard hundreds of times before. The giggle that was her heart's reason for beating. Hiccup was giggling…smiling…alive….

The dragon extended one of its wings forwards, a talon lingering just inches above Hiccup. Valka froze as Hiccup's giggling intensified, his arms waving wildly in an attempt to touch the dragon.

"What…?" she mouthed, the sword feeling heavy in her arms.

The dragon was not harming Hiccup. No, the dragon seemed to be… _playing_ with Hiccup.

It made a low sound in its throat, as if it was warbling a song. Its massive head tilted from side to side as piercing yellow eyes examined Hiccup. It bore the same expression Valka had seen numerous times on Hiccup's face, the same expression she herself wore nearly every day: curiosity.

A noise from the chaos outside startled the dragon, who had leaned too far forward on Hiccup's cradle. The talon, which Hiccup had finally, successfully grabbed ahold of, came down upon his face, leaving a cut on Hiccup's chin. Hiccup wailed, surprised and frightened, but Valka could not move forward to comfort him.

The dragon was now investigating _her_.

She raised the sword before her, inching back step by step. The dragon matched her steps, its flat nose sniffing frantically, yellow eyes never leaving hers. Though she could see its teeth, Valka could not say that its expression was unfriendly. The black pupils of its eyes widened, softening the angles of the spikes that surrounded its head. Valka lowered her weapon, her lips parting in the weakest of gasps.

It blinked, and for the first time ever she saw a dragon _smile_.

Could it possibly be that…the dragon _knew_?

Slowly, her fingers trembling, Valka reached her hand forward.

"ARGH!"

The metal of Stoick's axe fell between them into the wall.

Valka exclaimed in surprise as the dragon reared its head backwards: the axe had grazed one of its spines. Gone was the gentle creature Valka had just witnessed: the monster had returned.

"Valka!" Stoick cried. The dragon hissed, its eyes narrow slits. An unnatural glow formed in its mouth before it shot out a spout of fire. "Run!"

Stoick dodged the fire, leading the dragon away from her.

He was not nearly quick enough.

"No— _don't_!"

Without thinking, her palms landed on the dragon's hide.

With a snap of its wing to shrug off her grasp, the dragon turned towards her. Just like before, Valka stepped backwards, but the dragon no longer gazed at her with curious eyes.

Its pupils were deadly slits.

 _I was wrong, oh gods I was wrong._

"Hold on!"

But she could not hold on.

The dragon lunged at her, ensnaring her in one of its mighty talons. A gust rustled her hair.

"No-"

The ground faded away.

" _NO!_ "

She could see Stoick, clutching their son in one arm and his axe in the other, through the haze.

" _STOICK!_ "

" _VALKA_!"

Ants…that's what Stoick and Hiccup had become.

" _Stoick…_ "

The air escaped her lungs, leaving her body withered and faint. On the air, amid the chaos of the battle below her, Valka could hear her son crying. Her arms reached for him, for the chance to hold him one final time before a lifetime of mistakes caught up with her.

Instead, the great dragon carried her further and further away, until the fires of Berk were but just a star on the black ocean.

Her beacon, fading away into nothingness.


	37. Gráta

"Valka…"

How many times had he said her name, called her name? In joy? In anger? In pleasure? In fear? Thousands of times, perhaps a million. Valka, Vally, Val…her family's Vally, his Val: always his Val.

Valka Jorgenson

Valka Haddock

Mother of Hiccup

Wife

Mother

Sister

Friend

Gone.

 _"Stoick!"_

Someone called him. Was it her? Another? The call was muted in his ear, as if he was leagues beneath the water. How he longed to simply reside beneath the waves, let the waters take him into the halls of Valhalla. As long as she was there it would be a fate he would gladly accept.

Despite the weight in his arms, they felt empty. They would always be empty now…

"Chief!"

Someone slammed into him from behind. With a roar, Stoick raised his axe, only to find Gobber behind him, covered in soot.

"You'll choke yourself in this smoke, get out of here!"

Was Gobber speaking to him? Stoick wasn't sure. His axe remained raised above his head, his boots glued to what remained of his floor. _Their_ floor. Gobber, his light eyes narrowing, took the whimpering Hiccup from Stoick's arm. The release of the weight made his voice returned.

"Ready a ship-"

"We're still under attack-"

"I SAID READY A SHIP!"

Without offering an explanation, he ran, weaving through the ruins of his village. Their village. Their home. Shambles and ruins. A shell of the life that had been. He had never run so quickly, had never run so much like her. Like a bird on the edge of flight.

She had always wanted to fly.

"Stoick!"

The docks were deserted. Stoick found a small craft that he could power all on his own. He leaped aboard, undid the moorings, and began to row.

It was not too late. It couldn't be too late.

"What's gotten into you!?" Gobber called. Hiccup was wailing now, so confused and alone.

He needed his mother.

Valka.

"Take care of Hiccup!" Stoick yelled back. His strokes were laborious, faster than any one man could dream to row. He could not trust the wind on the sail, he could only trust himself.

In this one thing, he could trust himself.

* * *

A quarter mile away, just when his rhythm settled, the wind shifted. Though the sail had not been unfurled, the wind capsized the small vessel, sending Stoick toppling into the water. Sputtering and mad with rage, he began to swim. Hand over hand, his feet kicking, sending up a spray of water behind him. They couldn't have gotten far. No, they had to be on the next island. Meathead Island? No, they hadn't been traveling in that direction. Helheim's Gate? He'd swim there if he had to. Maybe he'd finally find it. Rid the world of evil. Get her back.

Above him, the dragons retreated, soaring off with their bounty. Stoick watched them with a snarl, following them with his eyes, until his spirits sunk. The dragons were flying in a different direction from the beast that had taken her. Where were they going? Helheim? Somewhere else?

The thought threw off his strokes. A wave sent him sideways. Fatigue crept in, and for a moment Stoick struggled to keep his head above water.

 _Better to just drown myself,_ he thought, and he almost allowed it too…until he thought of her. Who else would find her? No, he had to find her. He would.

Resurfacing, Stoick saw another ship setting out from Berk. He recognized a few of the tired, sooty faces on board: Gobber, Spitelout, Aron.

"Have you gone mad?" Gobber pulled him aboard when they met. Aron tossed the Chief a raggedy blanket to dry off and to warm up, while Spitelout steered them back towards home. "What's gotten into you? How would I tell your wife?"

He couldn't hold it in any more.

The great Chief of Berk lost himself to his grief. His tears could fill an ocean.

Between the great, heaving sobs, Stoick managed to murmur: "She's gone Gobber. Valka's gone."

The boat jerked to the port side. Spitelout had let go of the tiller.

"What…what did you say?"

Stoick had never thought that Spitelout and Valka resembled one another, they were only half siblings after all…but in that moment, Spitelout's eyes had grown as wide and as large as Valka's. The resemblance became uncanny.

"It's my fault," he choked out, "It's all my fault."

"Stoick, what happened?" Aron demanded.

The Chief could not speak. He wished, prayed that Thor would smite them, or that Aegir would unleash a leviathan to devour them from below. Perhaps Loki had been up to his old tricks, and that Valka would be safe on Berk waiting for him. Perhaps…perhaps…

"It's my fault," he whispered.

* * *

"Stoick?"

The Chief did not turn, nor did he acknowledge the interloper. He continued to sit, as he had for hours, in the store room of Mead Hall. Alone, shrouded in darkness. He had stared at that empty corner until he was certain his eyes had crossed. He could hear whispers, murmurs, and cries coming from the vast space behind him…but he could not bring himself to look. To look would mean to turn away from his own misery…and right now his misery was the only thing he wanted accompanying him.

"Stoick, I know you can hear me."

With a great exhale, Stoick snarled: "What is it Gobber?"

"The village is wanting uh…a briefing. Half the buildings are gone, and-"

"We've been managing the same way for decades…they know what to do."

"Uh, yes, well…about that…there's some arguing about where to start, and-"

Stoick shot him the iciest glare he could muster, a glare he never thought he would have to use on his best friend. He felt as though he had transformed into a Jotunn, a frost giant, by the terrified expression on Gobber's face; though he could not bring himself to soften.

"I just lost everything worth living for in my life Gobber…I don't give a _damn_ about their arguing. Now you go in there, and you tell them to shut the Hel up and find a solution, or Odin help me I will go in there and rip the beard off of any man who puts up a problem. Got it?"

Gobber, eyes wide, nodded rapidly.

"Aye Chief, you got it…OY, YOU LOT, SHUT IT!"

Stoick sighed. Gobber had stepped away, leaving him in peace.

A peace that was quickly surrendered.

"Oh, um, Stoick?" Gobber spoke softly, delicately, "You still have your son. You still have Hiccup."

* * *

The babe in question was being cared for by Solfrid. The Ingerman house had been spared during the chaos, and so Hiccup had ended up in their care. She had cleaned the dribble of blood coming from the cut on his chin, and had kept him calm and quiet enough to sleep. She had not questioned why Gobber had passed the infant onto her, but had done her duty without complaint. Valka was her friend of course, and she needed the practice for her own future little one.

"Sol," Fisk entered their home, his helmet in his hands. His straw colored hair was clamped down onto his forehead from sweat, his beard laid limp.

Solfrid, who had Hiccup on a couch beside her, stood.

Stoick entered the house.

"Oh, Stoick," Solfrid smiled, "I'm glad you found us. Hiccup's here, safe and sound. He's been very good, sweet as can be."

"Thank you, Solfrid," Stoick grumbled, nodding in the direction of his son. "I'll take him, now."

"Of course Chief," she stepped aside. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Stoick's shoulders shudder before he approached his son. With his large hands he scooped Hiccup up and cradled his head on his shoulder. How a massive man could move with such gentleness was beyond her; she worried how Fisk with all of his bulk would handle a newborn. Stoick seemed to have perfected the art.

"Thank you again," the Chief said stiffly.

"Of course. Any time you or Valka need someone to watch him-"

He froze in the doorway. Solfrid could hear a soft whimper…too low to come from a baby.

"Yes," Stoick responded, before disappearing into the misty dawn.

Solfrid stared after him, leaning into Fisk as he wrapped his arm around her.

"Something happened," he whispered, pressing his lips to the side of her head. He held her then, as if she were the most precious item he could ever hope to possess. Solfrid did not know it then, but the tears that she began to weep were for her fallen friend.

* * *

"Spite," Lundy stood with her hands on her hips, Snotlout wailing at her knee. "Spitelout!"

Her lazy husband sat before the hearth, his head hanging down. No doubt he was asleep. Of course he was, there was work to be done. There was a hole in the roof where a Gronkle had crashed into it, and Lundy wanted it repaired before the _next_ dragon raid. A cranky, teething toddler was not helping her mood either.

"Spitelout Jorgenson are you even listening to me?"

With a growl, she hoisted up Snotty and stomped down the steps. She deposited her son down by his many toys, but he toddled over to her again.

"Maaa…" he wailed, begging to be held. With a sigh, she obliged.

"Look, I know that you're tired from your voyage and the raid…but we've got to get that roof repaired. I don't want Snotlout getting sick from the draft. Who's around that can help? I think Finn is handy enough, or maybe Mulch…Spite?"

No, he wasn't sleeping.

Her husband, her strong, fierce, relentless husband, was crying.

Immediately, she knelt beside him, ignoring Snotlout's persistent, demanding hands.

"What is it?"

* * *

"You have the most beautiful eyes my darling girl," Odina Hofferson cooed to her daughter. Astrid was the only one allowed to see her soft side, or Aron when he was around. Two months without her husband had been tough, though Odina was not about to admit that to anyone. At the very least, Aron had been an extra set of hands around the house. Odina had not been pleased with keeping house; she was a shield maiden after all…but she was dutiful. No matter what those duties were she would keep to them.

Of course now she did not have a house to keep. Their hall had been one of the first ones set aflame by dragon fire…but Odina and Aron had already been woken up by the cries of their daughter. They managed to get out in time, and even saved several of their precious belongings. They were lucky, truly blessed.

Though taking refuge in the Great Hall was not ideal, it was their only option. Odina had noticed damage to Lundy's house, and had not seen Phlegma since the raid began. She heard that the Ingerman's house was unscathed…but Solfrid was a bit too sweet for Odina's liking, at least when it came to housemates. No, until she heard from Phlegma, her little family would remain in the Great Hall.

Astrid blinked at her, kicking her long legs in an unsteady manner. She frowned slightly…her smiles were few and far in between…she was quite a serious child.

"Where has your father gone off to?" she asked Astrid. It was nearly sunup, and she had not seen her husband for hours. Last time she had seen him was at the disastrous village gathering, which had disbanded almost as quickly as it had come together. Stoick had been a no-show…go figure. He was probably out handling that wife of his. Odina's blood still ran hot when she thought about their quarrel the day before.

"She only got upset because she knows I'm right," she whispered to Astrid, "Just won't admit it."

"Din," the smell of smoke preceded Aron's voice.

"Ah," she rolled her eyes, "There's your father. _Home_ at last," she turned to see him, his face, clothes, and hair covered in soot. "Where have you been?"

"Salvaging."

"Salvaging what? We got everything out that we could-"

"No, not our house. The Chief's house."

Odina blinked. She had not heard that Stoick's house had been destroyed.

"Anything?"

"A few things…things that Valka had packed to take with her."

"So then, why were they left behind?"

Aron stared at her, his deep eyes…the eyes their daughter inherited, were infinite. They told stories, sang songs, recounted battles…shared news both good—

"No…"

And bad.

* * *

"You can stay here as long as you need," Gobber gestured inside the tiny hut besides the forge. It was small, only one room, and full of clutter…but it had four walls and privacy.

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Course not. I usually sleep in the forge anyway."

Stoick nodded, noticing the unmade bed in the corner, but consciously ignored it. He moved into the small space, feeling claustrophobic, and settled Hiccup down onto the bed. His cradle had burned…he would need to make a new one…

"Stoick?"

He winced. Every time he heard his name, all he could hear was her screams…

"Aron uh…he found some things…" Gobber brought out a small sack that had been sitting on a stool besides the door. "They made it through, mostly."

Stoick nodded again, and put the parcel besides the bed. He would deal with it tomorrow.

No, today. Dawn had begun.

"If you need me, I'll be in the forge…lots of things to fix you know."

"I know."

"Might get a bit loud for the babe," Gobber offered kindly.

"We'll manage."

Stoick did not see it, but Gobber extended his hand to clasp his friend's shoulder…only to let it drop down back to his hip. He slipped out without another word, but gave a long, lingering look at the mighty Chief, wounded in a way Gobber couldn't imagine. Once he entered the sanctity of his forge, Gobber allowed himself to weep. He had grown fond of the little oddball that had won Stoick's heart. She had an infectious laugh and a charming stubbornness that could give Stoick a run for his money. She lit up around Stoick, and loved their son with every ounce of her being. The fact that she was a pacifist, and a vocal one at that, could be ignored by all of her endearing qualities.

She was the one who kept Stoick happy, the one who helped melt the burdens of his mantle away.

"All father," he began, slamming down on the bellows with more force than usual, "of all the women on this island, of all the souls here, why did you have to take her?"

There would not even be a body to burn.

Hiccup blinked, his eyes squinting at the dim light of the fire in the hearth. He stretched out his long limbs and smacked his lips, becoming acquainted with the unfamiliar space.

It was the unfamiliar face that caused him to whimper.

Stoick had not even noticed that Hiccup had woken up, not until he saw something stir out of the corner of his eye. He stood, kneeling down besides the cot, and looked into the eyes of his son.

That's when Hiccup began to scream.

"Oh no, Hiccup…shh…shh…" his hands had never felt so useless. He reached for the baby, but the sight of his massive hands frightened Hiccup even more. "Oh gods…you're okay son, you're okay."

Of course he was terrified: Hiccup had not seen Stoick in two months. He was a stranger, a danger.

Just as Hiccup was a stranger to him.

"I…uh…oh son…" he choked back the tears. Valka had been Hiccup's sun, the focus of his universe. He would surely look for her and, oh _gods_ , how was Hiccup going to eat?

Desperately searching for answers, Stoick painfully recalled what Valka had said to him only hours ago: _He likes funny faces and when I sing. He's not a big fan of clothes when he sleeps, but he loves having his tummy rubbed._

Despite his agonizing sadness, Stoick contorted his face into a scrunched up, humorous sight.

Hiccup paused, sniffling, looking.

Without hesitating, Stoick formed a different face, sticking his tongue out.

Hiccup chuckled, a short but satisfying sound.

It turned into a ripple of giggles as Stoick tickled his belly.

The noise brought the faintest of smiles to Stoick's face. Carefully, he scooped Hiccup up, and sat with him resting on his bent knees. Hiccup grabbed a hold of Stoick's finger, his tiny hand unable to wrap completely around its thickness, but his grip was tight.

"Thatta boy, do you remember me now?"

Hiccup produced a net of bubbles on his lips as he babbled. Stoick sighed.

"You'll be alright son."

He would be: Stoick would make sure of it.

Hiccup flapped his arms excited, the tiniest squeak coming out of his mouth: "MmmmA!"

The floodgates burst open as Stoick held Hiccup tightly against his chest.

"I'm sorry son. I'm so sorry."

* * *

 **Yes I am continuing the story! Have no fear my dear readers!**


	38. Fifteen Hours

**How about that trailer huh? I just know I'm going to bawling my eyes out when the movie comes out.**

 **Anyway, our little story continues. As always, read and enjoy, and maybe leave a note :)**

* * *

Death was warm, too warm. She had expected the halls of Valhalla to be comforting, cozy with the heat of eternal fire…but this heat was stifling. Could Freya had claimed her for Folkvangr instead? Perhaps she had wound up in Hel…perhaps her life had not been as honorable as she had led it to be.

No…Valka felt _hunger_.

Was that supposed to happen in the afterlife?

She winced, opening her stingy, tired eyes to a discouraging sight. She was alone, in some sort of gray, moist cave, speckled with tapestries of moss. Lightheaded, she sat up, subconsciously checking herself for injuries.

Head: fine, other than dizzy.

Arms: fine.

Legs: stiff.

Hands: a few scrapes and cuts.

Torso: hungry and aching.

Throat: dry.

She searched for water. She could hear the telltale drip of running water, but could not see it, not from where she crouched. Wobbling all the way, she stood up to move around. The movement did her legs wonders, but discouraged her spirit further. The cave was huge, her little alcove merely a room in a sprawling labyrinth. Too frightened to venture further in, she turned and went in the opposite direction. She began to smell the sea, began to feel a bit of a breeze…but froze in her tracks.

At the mouth of the cave, curled up on its side, was _the dragon_.

"Oh _gods_ …" Valka gripped the cavern wall to keep her knees from buckling.

The dragon took up the entire width of the cavern's mouth. Its body rose and fell steadily with each deep inhale and exhale. Valka could feel the heat sweeping over her feet. Its wings—its _four_ wings, were crisscrossed over each other, wrapping the dragon up like a swaddling blanket. Most impressive were its frills, completely relaxed against its skull.

Valka had been intrigued by the creature before, but now she was terrified.

Despite the futility of it all, Valka croaked out a desperate whisper: " _Stoick_ …"

* * *

"If anyone wakes him, I swear to _Thor_ you'll be sweeping dragon cages for a month."

Stoick stomped into the hall, late for his council meeting. The meetings normally consisted of his trusted friends and advisors…but today the hall was crowded. Some of the people there had been displaced by the raid…but most were there to catch word of what exactly had happened at the Chief's house. Whispers arose as Stoick sat down, his son strapped across his chest in a sling.

The great man with such a small cargo would have been comical, had his eyes not been fierce and furious.

"Reports: now."

Buffnut stood up, "We have seven huts destroyed, fourteen in need of repairs, three confirmed dead and…" he paused, "one missing."

Stoick tried to hide the hitch in his breath. Fifteen hours ago she had been in his arms, and now…

"Have the displaced families been given shelter?"

"Some have, but we're waiting to see the full extent of the damage."

"Who is taking inventory?"

"Fisk."

"Good man for the job."

Buffnut sat down, immensely relieved.

"What dragons were we facing last night?" Stoick asked.

The breeds were announced individually: Monstrous Nightmare, Gronkle, Deadly Nadder, Hideous Zippleback, Terrible Terrors, and—

"Stormcutter," Gobber spoke up, "We had a Stormcutter last night."

Murmurs arose from the crowd.

"We've never had a Stormcutter around before!" Someone cried.

"It was terrifying!"

"How did it find us?"

"You should ask _him_ ," a venomous voice hissed.

Spitelout emerged from behind a pillar. His eyes were red and glassy. He pointed a jagged finger in Stoick's direction and snarled, "He's the one who attacked it before."

"Spitelout-"

"Go on Chief, tell them about our voyage. Our little trip to find the nest."

Stoick growled, but relented. He clutched Hiccup closer to his chest.

"We came across the Stormcutter on our voyage to the nest. We never found the nest, but we came across this dragon-"

"Tell the truth Stoick!" Spitelout demanded.

"Fine! We came across _two_ Stormcutters! A male and a female! Mates!"

"And _who_ gave the order to attack?"

"Me, alright? It was me," Stoick faced the crowd, "We took down the female but the male got away. A few days later it attacked us in a storm…then a few days after that…it _followed_ us."

"To avenge its mate," Spitelout practically spat, "That's why it took _her_!"

"WE DON'T KNOW THAT!" Stoick roared. Hiccup jerked awake in his sling and bawled in alarm. Stoick, his heart shattered into irremediable pieces, continued, "We don't know why it took her! That doesn't prove anything!"

"Did the beast go in anyone else's homes? Did it?" Spitelout had turned crimson in the face, "No. It only went to yours. It _smelled_ you. It wanted _you,_ but no…it took my…my…" Spitelout's anger vanished. All that was left was a shell of a brokenhearted man.

"Dragons aren't smart enough for revenge," Aron Hofferson spoke up. "Everyone knows that. There's got to be another reason why Val-"

"Aron shut it," Odina jabbed him in the side. To everyone's shock and surprise, the Chief of Berk sat in his great chair, a wailing babe in one hand and his head in the other. His shoulders heaved and shuddered. Though no one could see his eyes, the expression in them was one of unrelenting pain.

No order had to be given for the crowd to disperse. The tension had driven everyone away to gossip and to wonder. Aron went to deal with a defeated Spitelout, but it was Odina who bravely, foolishly approached the chief.

"Stoick?" she whispered gently.

"What?" He glared at her, "What the _Hel_ do you want? I don't need _your_ sympathy Odina Hofferson. I already know what you think of my wife. She told me herself."

"I know," Odina bit her lip. Never one to admit defeat, she relented, "I'm sorry for what I said."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to-" Stoick crumpled once again. Hiccup had run out of strength to scream and instead moaned in his father's arm. It was a pitiful sound.

"Stoick…when was the last time Hiccup ate?"

"I let him suck on a cloth of goat's milk before we came."

"That's not-" she sighed, "I'll feed him for you."

"No."

"He needs to eat Stoick-"

"Not from you-"

"There's no one else on Berk. Hilly and Solfrid aren't due for a while, and Lundy has her work cut out for her with Snotlout. Please Chief," she swallowed her threatening tears, "Let me do it, for her."

Stoick straightened, his glassy eyes darting between Odina and his son.

At last, he sighed.

"I need to see him. I'll give you your privacy but I can't-" his voice hitched.

"Okay," Odina answered.

"And as soon as someone else is able to, you'll be relieved of your duty."

"I understand."

With reluctant hands, Stoick passed Hiccup into Odina's awaiting arms. He fussed weakly at the transition, somewhere between asleep and awake. His eyes squinted as he looked up at her in uncertainty. Odina retreated back to her section of the hall, where a slumped Aron was watching Astrid asleep on a nest of blankets. Stoick's eyes never left her figure, even from across the hall. True to his word though, he looked away as soon as Odina held Hiccup to her breast.

The babe ate as though he was starving.

"Is it true?" she asked, stroking Hiccup's fuzzy head in comfort, "About the Stormcutter?"

"Aye," Aron said stiffly, "There were two of them, but only the male survived."

"Do you really think-?"

"I don't know Din, I doubt anyone will ever know."

* * *

Right as Valka was on the verge of fainting from thirst and hunger, the dragon woke. Despite her attempts to appear as small and as invisible as possible, the dragon locked eyes with her almost immediately. At first, it seemed confused, almost frightened by her presence…but the pupils in its yellow eyes softened. Its squashed, triangular nose twitched rapidly, taking in her scent.

As it opened its mouth, Valka prayed to all the gods for her life to end painlessly.

Instead, she felt the warm stickiness of a dragon's tongue against her face.

"Huh?"

It plopped down in front of her, legs and feet hidden beneath its body.

It waited, expectantly.

"Uh…" Valka wanted to back up, but dared not move, "Hi?"

Blink-blink, went the dragon's eyes, one at a time. It tilted its head, the spines on its face rattling with each movement. Valka tried to contain the protests of her stomach, but it unleashed a mighty growl that startled the dragon.

"Ah!" Valka cowered as the dragon began to move. Instead, the dragon marched over to the mouth of the cave and dove straight down.

Barely half a minute later, the dragon returned. Its cheeks were puffed out, and its face was wet.

Before she could ask, the dragon spat out a pile of flapping fish onto the ground in front of her.

The stench was unbelievable: fresh fish mixed with the smell of smoky dragon saliva…Valka nearly vomited, but the dragon waited expectantly once more.

"Uh…"

 _Oh gods…_ she thought with a grimace, _does it want me to_ eat—

It nudged a fish closer to her. At least this one had stopped flapping.

"Um…" she began, but the dragon kept its large eyes fixed upon her. With trembling hands, she picked up the slimy fish. The dragon leaned in, waiting.

 _Oh Odin help me_ …

She bit into the fish with just the edge of her teeth. It was barely enough to scrape the skin off. It took all of her strength not to spit the piece out and offend the dragon. Somehow, she managed to swallow it.

"T-thanks…" she shuddered.

Satisfied, the dragon slurped up the remaining fish. The sound was nearly as sickening as the sight.

With a sigh, Valka leaned back against the rocky wall of the cavern. The dragon seemed content, for the moment at least. She pulled her braid over her shoulder and fiddled with the end.

The dragon sniffed at her hands, her hair. She had no privacy anymore.

That broke her.

Valka gulped, swallowing her rage and the tears that had sprung free.

"Why did you bring me here?" she whispered fiercely, though she knew the dragon could not understand her. It felt good to speak, felt good to let her words fly without abandon. "What do you want with me? If you're going to kill me just do it now for Odin's sake!"

She had heard legends of dragons kidnapping young maidens and holding them prisoner. It was only when the handsome, strong man arrived and the dragon was slayed that they would be set free…but those were legends. Myths. Stories told to frighten young girls into obedience, lest they be taken.

Valka whimpered: she hadn't been obedient, and she had been taken.

And the handsome, strong man…Stoick… _Hiccup_ …

"I'm sorry," she wept into her hands, tucking her head down against her knees. "I'm so sorry Stoick, for everything. Oh gods please, _please_ …"

The dragon warbled curiously. Valka could feel its heat against her body.

But then, something earth shattering occurred: the dragon put its head down on her lap.

"Huh?" she peaked. The head was much, much larger than her body, but it rested it with an amazing gentleness, as if it _knew_ it could hurt her. It blinked up at her, and though Valka kept her hands clenched against her face, they twitched, her fingertips _yearning_ for the touch of a dragon's skin—

 _Might kill me faster_ , she thought darkly. _Oh well_.

Smooth, warm skin met her fingerprints…skin nearly like leather, only softer.

Beneath her touch, the dragon was…purring?

"Wow," she exhaled, retracting her hand but immediately regretting it. The dragon too seemed disappointed, and leaned in for another pat. Valka sputtered out a chuckle, "Greedy aren't you?"

 _Speak for yourself,_ she chided. Twenty years of wondering, theorizing, speculating was at her fingertips. Valka obliged the dragon's request, scratching beneath its square chin. The spines along its face flexed and contracted in response…it was then that Valka noticed a spike was damaged.

"Oh, right…" she recalled Stoick's axe flying between them, and shuddered. "I'm…I'm sorry."

The dragon glanced up at her and blinked. Despite the heaviness weighing down upon her, despite the fear that plagued her, Valka managed a small smile.

She supposed, if she had to waste away in a cave, this dragon made for interesting company.

At least she wouldn't be bored as she anticipated death.


	39. Ice and Fire

When the dragon fell asleep, Valka managed to tiptoe over to the mouth of the cave. Just as she had suspected, she was in some sort of mountain. There was nothing but air before her, save for a hundred meter drop into ocean water. Valka shivered, clinging to the cave wall. The water below was white as it crashed against sharp rocks that lined the mountain like the teeth of a monster. The wind felt significantly cooler than it had on Berk…she decided she must be farther north. The sun was setting just out of sight from the edge of the cave…would the dragon change at night?

Valka exhaled; swimming was not an option. The waves were too rough, the fall alone would kill her, and she had only a generalization of where she was. Defeated, she turned to head back into the cave…only for a strong gust of wind to knock her off her feet.

A flock of dragons flew parallel to the mountain. The beat of their wings sent in strong currents that seemed unending. She spotted the usual breeds, and rarer, more elusive ones among the crowd.

"Beard of Thor…" she gasped. Was she at _the_ nest?

Her roommate dragon stirred. It seemed…agitated.

The dragon stood and stomped past her. Valka retreated, and the dragon laid right at the mouth of the cave, facing her.

"I wasn't going to jump," she rolled her eyes, knowing perfectly well that the dragon could not understand her. "I wouldn't survive that."

The dragon shut its orb eyes, and was snoring within a minute.

Valka wanted to scream.

Instead, she found her way back to her prior resting place and rubbed her sore body: a _mother's_ body. The thought of Hiccup made her hurt even more. How she wished she could hold her boy.

"All because I couldn't kill a dragon," she whispered to no one.

Legs aching, she began to pace. The dragon was back in its deep sleep so she knew it couldn't mind. With the fading light, Valka ran her hand along every inch of the cave wall, searching for the smallest of gaps. Even if it was just a nook, she would be satisfied…a place where the dragon couldn't get to her if she needed to hide.

It was not a nook she found, but an entire corridor. The entryway was narrow, almost too narrow for Valka's body…but she squeezed through. The air felt significantly cooler down this passageway, but Valka followed it regardless. The light was quickly fading…now was the time to explore.

Perhaps...there was a way _home_.

* * *

"Stoick, you need to sleep."

Gobber stood at the threshold of the little shack. Stoick was up, still up, stoking the fire. Every few seconds he glanced over his shoulder to check on a sleeping Hiccup. He would stiffen, then sigh, before returning to his monotonous task.

"Can't."

"Look," Gobber pulled up a stool. It wobbled beneath his weight. "You can't…blame yourself-"

"That's easy for you to say-"

"You had no idea what that dragon was going to do. Maybe Aron Hofferson is right; are dragons really smart enough for revenge?"

Stoick exhaled, his voice gravely.

"It took her because I wasn't quick enough. I tried to draw its attention away from her, but it didn't work. If I had just been a second faster, she'd-"

"But you don't _know_ that Stoick."

"Yes I do."

"No, you don't."

Hiccup stirred in his sleep. Both men froze, anticipating the cry that was to come…but Hiccup merely stretched out his legs before smacking his lips, remaining asleep.

Stoick stood rigidly.

"I need you to watch him."

"While you sleep? Sure-"

"No, because I'm leaving."

Gobber hadn't noticed the rucksack in the corner, Stoick's axe resting besides it.

"Leaving? Don't tell me you're-" Gobber's eyes widened in realization, "You can't be serious Stoick. We're practically in ruins, and you're going to leave us on a fool's errand?"

"There's still a chance she's out there Gobber-"

"I want to believe that as much as you do Stoick," Gobber said, "I love the girl, gods I do, but she's _gone_ Stoick. A dragon took her for Thor's sake-you know what that means as much as I do. Besides, we haven't found the nest-"

"I don't think it took her to the nest," Stoick grabbed his helmet.

"How do you know-?"

"Because the Stormcutter flew off in a different direction."

"Maybe it just didn't want to share."

Gobber regretted it as soon as he said it. His face burned like hot iron after Stoick's fist collided against his cheek. He thought he felt another tooth pop loose.

"Don't you ever, _ever_ -"

"You're right, you're right. I'm sorry. I'm an ass." Gobber threw up his good hand and his hook in defeat. "But what if you're wrong? What if something happens to you? What would happen to _him_?"

He nodded in Hiccup's direction.

"Then he'll grow up knowing that his father loved his mother with all of his heart." Stoick clasped a hand on Gobber's shoulder. "Please Gobber, I need to do this."

"Could you at least take someone with you? Aron? Fisk? Spitelout?"

"Spitelout wants nothing to do with me now-"

"He'll want to look for his sister-"

"And give me to the dragon who took her."

"It might be good for him, for both of you…ask him."

* * *

Spitelout had not answered Stoick verbally; he had answered with his fist. As their ship set off, Stoick's eye had turned black, as though he had spread ashes across his face. Accompanying him was a cold Spitelout, an uncomfortable Fisk, an eager Finn Hofferson, and an impatient Aron. Buffnut had remained behind: Hilly was nearing the end and, according to the gossips of Berk, looking fit to burst. Right as they were untying the moorings, a set of heavy footsteps came running down the dock.

"Wait!"

It was Phlegma.

She leapt onboard, panting and out of breath.

"You're not leaving without me," she stated, taking her place besides one of the oars. No one questioned her arrival, nor did they protest. Phlegma was fierce. She was a shield maiden of incredible courage. Stoick needed her.

He made the mistake of looking back at Berk. From there, high up on the cliff where he had confessed his love to Valka years ago, Gobber was standing with Hiccup in his arms. Stoick nearly turned around, nearly swam back to Berk, back to his son, but stayed. He needed to find Valka. He just _had_ to.

* * *

Valka was stupid.

Valka was foolish.

Valka was dead.

No, not yet at least, but she was going to be. She had lingered too far into the corridor of the cave; the light had faded. She was completely blind in the thick darkness, the purest black she had ever seen.

She suppose she would have waited until morning, had it not been for the hissing sound.

Despite knowing her bearings, or having any way to see, she ran.

The hissing never ceased. It only came closer.

Panting, crying, Valka felt her ankles roll over every rock, banged her elbows into the walls. Her chest burned as she gulped down mouthfuls of air. Her stomach ached in agony.

"Ah!" she screamed, feeling something grasp at her heel.

Her agility was nothing in comparison to a dragon's.

The strangest sight greeted her: a glowing green light. Valka turned towards it, praying that it wasn't a mirage or a trick by another dragon. No, it was very much real. She exited the tunnel and slid into an icy chamber, taller than the cave she had inhabited with the dragon. Spikes of sharp ice stuck out from the middle of the chamber, curious pale teal shards that looked deadly. Still, Valka backed up against them, watching as a pair of eyes emerged from the tunnel.

High on its two back legs, was a red scaled Hobblegrunt.

"Gah!" She ducked, trying to squeeze in between the ice, but the Hobblegrunt charged at her.

Had it not been for another dragon, she would have been maimed.

Her dragon kidnapped swooped down from above and snarled at the Hobblegrunt. Its four wings were spread out as wide as possible in the cavern; Valka realized that it was using them as a shield.

If Valka could speak dragon, she would understand all the growls and warbles the dragons exchanged. Her kidnapper's "voice" was deep and almost regal in tone, while the Hobblegrunt's was high and scratchy. Whatever the conversation was, it was heated. Valka could hear the sound of fire burning in the back of their throats, but with a final roar, her kidnapper managed to startle the Hobblegrunt off into its arm of the labyrinth, back into the darkness. Its scales had turned blue.

Valka collapsed.

The dragon turned on her, its eyes venomous. Valka thought that it would lash at her, but instead it sniffed at her rapidly. It lingered at her elbows, where her skin had been scratched and bloodied from her tumbles down the tunnel. She thought the dragon was going to lick her, but instead it shuffled off.

It wanted her to follow it.

"I'm not going back there," she said inanely, "You can't keep me in there."

The dragon was too quick for her to dodge. It got a hold of the back of her dress and carried her in its mouth. She flopped and dangled with every step the dragon took. Punching and kicking were not an option.

Instead, she screamed: "PUT ME DOWN! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!"

It leapt up a path blocked by stalagmites; the bouncing made Valka nauseous.

"Stop, stop, stop, okay, okay!" she groaned, "I'm sorry I ran off. Just stop!"

One turn around a sharp corner, and Valka became blinded with beauty.

"Whoa…"

* * *

"You should put something on that eye Chief," Phlegma sat down besides Stoick. They were adrift on the open sea; Stoick had ordered everyone to sleep. They were the only two souls awake.

"It doesn't hurt much."

"You don't have to be noble about it."

"It's nothing compared to the other pains."

Phlegma frowned, "Yeah. I guess not."

The shield maiden grabbed her shield, an old wooden circle decorated with painted vines.

"So it was a Stormcutter then?"

"Aye."

"Chief, I need you to be honest with me," Phlegma paused, hesitant. "Do you really think it was random, why Valka was taken? Or do you think it was something else-"

"Revenge?"

"No, no I don't buy that. I mean…maybe that's why the dragon went into your home…but that doesn't explain why it _took_ her. If you killed its mate right in front of it…wouldn't it want the same done to yours?"

"I don't know-"

"You don't think it's strange that that dragon took the only dragon… _sympathizer-_ "

"Valka did _not_ sympathize with the dragons-"

At Stoick's snarl, Phlegma threw up her hands.

"Okay, okay, not a sympathizer…a pacifist then…the _only_ one on the entire island?"

Stoick stared at her, his lips taut, his brows furrowed. Phlegma could not tell if he was angry, confused, or aggrieved. He hardly seemed to exist.

"When we find her, we'll know why it took her," was all he said.

* * *

A canopy of green greeted her. She was inside, yet outside. The mountain opened up to a vast, arboreal space, the ceiling of which was a dome of ice. Even in the darkness of night, the ice that shrouded the mountain caused everything to become illuminated. Valka heard the rushing of water, and even felt a slight, comfortable breeze.

The only discomfort was the fifty or so dragons perched on the cliffs above her.

Valka found herself cowering behind her kidnapper.

"Is this…where you live?"

The nest? Beyond Helheim? Had Stoick been looking in the wrong place all this time?

The dragon nudged her forward towards the edge of their crag. The drop was immense, but that was not what frightened Valka the most.

No, that honor belonged to the behemoth of a dragon glancing up at her.

"Balder's beard…" Valka sunk to her knees in disbelief.

How…how could a dragon that _huge_ possibly exist?

How could _she_ possibly exist after meeting the creature?

The beast, snowy white and covered with black tipped spines raised its massive head towards her. Two tusks protruded from either cheek, its gaping mouth in between. Over one hundred needle-like teeth lined the inside of its mouth, a mouth that looked like it could swallow an armada whole.

Most striking were its eyes: a cool teal green, the very color of the ice that surrounded them.

Eyes that were right in front of her.

Valka could feel her tears freeze on her cheeks.

* * *

"Cup," Snotlout whacked his cousin on the head. "Cup-cup."

The placid Hiccup paid him no mind: he was too busy investigating everything his eyes could see.

"How are you doing Lunds?" Odina asked gently. Astrid was laying against her shoulder, freshly fed, while Hiccup sat in between the two women. Lundy's eyes were bloodshot.

"Oh Dina, I haven't slept, I haven't eaten. Snotty is the only thing keeping me going."

"What about Spitelout…is he?"

"He's distraught," Lundy exhaled with a shuttering breath. "He couldn't even look at me."

"I can't blame him," Odina said, quickly adding: "I mean, she was his sister. The only bit of his old life that's left…and Ursula only died a few months ago."

"I know, gods I know." Lundy scooped Snotlout up. Despite his protests, she squeezed him tight. "I just can't understand, why her? Why Valka? Why my _sister_?"

"Everyone's talking about it…with all we have going on, the only thing anyone can think to talk about is Valka. And now," she glanced down at the wide eyed babe lounging beside her, small and helpless, "Now we have Hiccup to care for...and if Stoick doesn't come back-"

"Oy," Gobber strolled in, interrupting their sanctuary in the corner of the Hall. "If you're done with the sprout, I'll be taking him home now."

"Are you sure you don't want him to stay?" Odina offered, "You have a lot to do at the forge-"

"Nope, the Chief entrusted me with Hiccup's wellbeing…so a nanny I shall-" he hoisted up Hiccup, only to gag. "On second thought though…maybe he should get changed before he goes."

Despite the grief and sadness that burdened them, Odina and Lundy laughed.

* * *

 _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods…_

The great dragon stared Valka down, its eyes never relenting. They never even blinked.

Then, the strangest sensation greeted her…her eyelashes felt as though they had been burned, though she felt no pain. The feeling continued in her eyebrows, even the tiny hairs that were exposed beneath her tunic. Glancing at her hands…she saw a shimmering, thin layer of—

"Ice," she gasped. "It breathes…I mean you breathe…"

She stood, her eyes fixated on the dome above her. As the ice on her skin melted with the heat of her body, the ice overhead stayed put, strong as stone. Valka was fascinated.

Her kidnapper stood behind her, its chest practically puffed out with pride.

Emboldened by the magic that surrounded her, Valka extended her hand. She did not know what was going to happen, but in that moment she was oddly content. There was wonder and beauty in this place…and despite being encircled by dragons, Valka felt _safe_.

The dragon's forehead rested against her palm.

Gone was the sweet tingling of ice…Valka felt embraced by fire.


	40. Happy Birthday

**Summer break is a teacher's best friend.**

 **So the story is going to start taking jumps through time, otherwise this would be an incredibly long fic, and we want Valka and her boys reunited don't we?**

 **Writing toddler Hiccup is so fun!**

* * *

By the time Hiccup had turned a year old, Stoick had set out on three ventures to try to find Valka, and two trips to find the nest. All five attempts had been failures, with lives lost and spirits dampened. Stoick, whose priority was finding his son's mother, had only been around for scarcely three months of his son's life before his first birthday. Every time he returned home, Hiccup had grown another inch, or had reached another milestone. His eyes had turned green, a mossy green that reminded Stoick of a rainy forest. He had three teeth in his mouth and could push himself up into a sitting position. Crawling had taken some time, but he preferred to crawl on his belly, using his arms to propel himself forward. Walking and standing had not been attempted.

Whereas his mobility was limited, his vocabulary was not. Hiccup could call any of his caretakers: Gob, Oh, Lunny, and Sof. He recognized his playmates: Sod and Az. Hiccup even knew the names of the other babies on Berk. Hilly had given birth to _twins_ …an astonishing feat. A girl and a boy that looked exactly alike, Ruffnut and Tuffnut were known to Hiccup as Uff and Duff. Solfrid had a chubby little baby boy called Fishlegs…a homage to her family's crest. Hiccup called him Fizz.

Other words Hiccup babbled out in his squeaky baby voice were: milk, up, no, yes, toy, play, down, water, nap, eat and, to everyone's chagrin, why.

Leave it to Valka's son to discover the word why before any others.

All of these words formed in his absence, Stoick considered, and yet he had been there for Hiccup's very first word: Ma.

Stoick had yet to be called Da.

He supposed it was because of his absence. Hiccup hardly recognized him whenever he returned. He didn't cry, but he wouldn't leave the arms of whoever was holding him. It was heart wrenching.

Valka would not have wanted Stoick to miss so much of their son's life. If she couldn't be there to share it with him, then Stoick would simply need to double his efforts.

The task was a difficult one.

The child had the most abnormal sleep schedule as wherever Stoick went, Hiccup went as well. Hiccup found himself blissfully seated beside his father at council meetings. Speeches and plans were frequently interrupted by Hiccup's excited squeals or a concerned whimper. Stoick had started giving Hiccup scraps of parchment and a jar of paint that Gobber had gifted him. The distraction had worked for a day…until Hiccup had discovered that it was much more fun to paint himself than the parchment.

He had screamed the entire bath…but it was during his screams of protest that Hiccup finally said: "Da!"

Stoick had cried. Oh how he had cried: tears of joy and tears of gut wrenching sorrow.

"Damn it Val," he muttered into his hands as he watched his son sleep, "You should be here."

Their home had been rebuilt on the foundations of its ruins. More artifacts had been found during the deconstruction and reconstruction, including the breast plate that Chief Mo had sent Valka before their wedding. Stoick had found himself laughing at the absurd size, before succumbing to tears once more that he would never hold his wife's body in his arms again.

On Hiccup's first birthday, Stoick had made the painful decision to end his search.

Gods, she was so young. They had their entire lives ahead of them.

Children…Valka had wanted more children. _He_ had wanted more children. A daughter perhaps…they had talked about having a little girl one day. A little girl with hair that Valka could braid until her fingers grew stiff. A little girl he could dance with. How he would have loved her, or any of the children they would never have.

How he loved Hiccup.

His son had become his reason for being: the life force that kept blood moving through his veins.

He had failed Valka. He would not fail his son.

* * *

"Happy birthday Hiccup…" Valka stared up at the wall where every day she put a mark. She counted the days since she had been taken…so many had passed…her son was no longer a baby but a little boy. A year old.

 _If_ he had made it.

The possibility had darkened Valka's thoughts so many times. The last she saw her husband and son they were in the burning wreckage of their home. Hiccup was so small and fragile…without his mother how could he survive? If the dragons continued to attack, who is to say that another attack hadn't claimed them? It pained Valka to think so dismally, but she had no other way of knowing.

Still, on her son's first birthday, she sang to him, and she wept.

Cloud Jumper had rested his head in her lap. The touch of his skin against her fingertips was a comfort Valka did not take lightly. The dragon was a proud creature, but he protected Valka fiercely. She was the only one he seemed to enjoy spending time with.

The other dragons were still wary. After all she hardly left her little cave behind the waterfall.

"You should go spread your wings Cloud Jumper," Valka cooed to her companion.

Cloud Jumper stayed put.

"I'll come watch you."

The dragon huffed, as did Valka. Weeks ago Valka had very nearly climbed aboard Cloud Jumper as he took off from the top of the mountain. Curiosity had gotten the best of her…but she had been too slow in her movements. She had slipped and fallen in the crack left between the ground and Cloud Jumper. Fortunately the dragon had caught her within a second, but the event had left both of them unnerved.

He was _very_ protective of her.

"I won't try to climb on, I promise."

But Valka did long to climb on his back. The last time she had flown was the first time…and she had been rendered unconscious for that. She was too curious for her own good; her heart led the way while her mind ran through a list of dangers and consequences. The height was the greatest danger, followed immediately by the speed. Topping the list of consequences was death, but a close second was hurting Cloud Jumper's pride.

He was after all, a very vain, wild dragon.

"Don't be stupid Valka," she chastised herself while sitting on a boulder with her eyes towards the skies. She had removed the stitching from her fur dress to create a shrug, but even then she was shivering. She would have gone back inside had it not been for Cloud Jumper and her own interest.

The dragon beat his wings, propelling him higher into the sky. His second set of wings would emerge while hovering or turning…you hardly noticed them when they were not out. One of his favorite stunts was an aileron roll, in which he would tumble off in a circle to his side, sometimes a dozen in a row. It was a dizzying display, Valka was not sure how the dragon could handle it…but she was entranced.

When the dragon landed in the snow near her, she greeted him warmly, thankful for his heated breath as it thawed her chilled skin.

"See," she smirked playfully, "I listened your majesty. You got to have all the fun all by yourself."

Cloud Jumper paused, retracting away from her, his spines clacking.

"What?"

His expression was eerily human: it was full of exasperation. Before Valka could speak again or think to move, Cloud Jumper swept her up with one of his wings.

It felt as delicate as lace, yet strong as iron.

"Whoa, what are you-?"

He stepped over to the ledge of the mountain, turning his head around to glance at her expectantly. He was teasing her…right? Were dragons even capable of teasing?

"Um…heh…we're pretty high up."

He grunted, before launching Valka up into the air.

She screamed, flailing her arms wildly around her in a pathetic attempt to swim through the air. The sea stacks and shards of ice had never looked so deadly. Her fur shrug had flung off of her body, and was now flying through the air beside her-

"UMPF!"

She landed with a thud, not on the hard solid ground but on something moving.

"You son of a-!"

Cloud Jumper roared with laughter. Valka had landed in a belly flop right on top of Cloud Jumper's back. His spines had folded down to soften the landing, and his wings had spread to create a protective barrier. He turned his head around to face her, his yellow eyes gleaming with mischief and wonder.

A human riding on a dragon…even a dragon had to recognize the barrier they had broken.

The wind no longer felt icy, but pleasant. The heat radiating from Cloud Jumper's skin seemed to warm it before it could reach her. Tentatively, she moved off of her belly and into a crouch, before letting her legs rest just behind Cloud Jumper's neck. He did not protest, not even when Valka rested her head atop his. He seemed to purr beneath her.

"This is amazing. Thank you…my friend."

* * *

"Dada!" Hiccup grinned from his little cot. He put up both of his arms expectantly, giggling in excitement as Stoick came further into their bedroom. He had finally outgrown his cradle, but was not ready for a large bed. Stoick had created bars on all sides of his cot to keep Hiccup safely inside. He could not get in or out without help.

"Morning son," Stoick beamed. He held in his hands a treasure, one that he had been reluctant to give over. "Daddy's got something for you."

"Is it?" Hiccup tried to stand but flopped over. "Oof!"

"Easy there, I got you."

He hoisted Hiccup out with one arm. The boy weighed next to nothing in his arms.

"I found this for you," he sat down with Hiccup on the large bed, the child placed securely on Stoick's knee. From behind his back he produced the stuffed dragon Valka had sewn all those months ago. A toy she had stuffed inside her knapsack minutes before she was taken. She had said Hiccup was afraid of it, but perhaps now that he was older…

Hiccup stared at the toy, cocking his head sideways. His bare toes wiggled and curled; a part of him always had to be moving.

"Toy?" he asked.

"Aye, from your mother."

"Mama?" Hiccup glanced up at Stoick with those big round eyes of his.

"Yes, Mama."

"Fo Hic," Hiccup grabbed the toy with both hands, clinging it to his chest, "Fum Mama."

"You see this son?" Stoick pointed to the runes stitched on the side, "It says your name."

"Name," Hiccup tasted the word in his mouth. "Name Hic-up…Mama name?"

"Your Mama's name is-" no, wrong, " _Was_ Valka."

"Wall-cup."

Stoick kissed his son's head, "Valka…your Mama, she loved you so much."

"Is she?"

Stoick sighed; one day he would understand. One day he would know everything there was to know about the beautiful, intelligent creature that was his mother. He would tell him stories, sing their song…perhaps someone could draw a sketch of her. But most of all he would know why his mother was not there to sing him lullabies or to play with him…because of the dragons.

Perhaps one day his tiny son would be the one to rid the world of the beasts.


	41. Steps

**Thank you everyone for your continued support! Your reviews and comments always brighten my day!  
**

* * *

"Dada no!" Hiccup screeched, going boneless in his father's arms. For as strong as Stoick was, Hiccup was as slippery as a freshly caught fish. He wiggled his way free and crawled as quickly as he was able. His dragon toy was clutched beneath one arm as he crawled on his belly. Stoick quickly caught up.

"Hiccup Haddock, I said it is time for bed."

"No bed! No sleep! Go see fends!"

Someone had told him that the age of two was the worst…but Hiccup was still a few months away from his second birthday. Odin help him when Hiccup actually reached the age of two.

If Stoick didn't strangle the boy first...

"Your friends are all asleep, and you should be too."

"Fends get up. Come play."

"Hiccup!"

Stoick managed to get a hold of Hiccup's left foot. He hoisted the boy up by his leg with the gentlest of strength he could muster. Hiccup giggled, enjoying hanging upside down, completely oblivious to his father's frustration.

"I fly! I dragon!

"NO!"

Stoick put his son back down on the floor. The boom of his voice had frightened the boy. His green eyes watered, and he clutched his toy as if it was his protector.

"You are a little boy, a little Viking boy; _not_ a dragon. Now you are _going_ to bed!"

Hiccup, trembling, tried to rise to his feet…only to wobble for a moment before falling.

Stoick immediately softened.

"Hiccup…"

But the toddler found something new to focus on. He dropped his precious toy and pushed himself up onto his feet. His knees were shaking, his legs looked too small, too weak…

"Son I-"

"I go," he stuck his tiny pink tongue out of the corner of his mouth, "I do."

With arms extended out to either side of him, Hiccup took his first unsteady step. Stoick winced, noticing how his knee almost went completely sideways…but his son found a way to steady himself. His green eyes focused on the toes of his feet as he lifted them up for another step, then another…

"My gods…Hiccup—son, you're walking!"

He would have swooped his son up into his arms in celebration, but he was too overjoyed to see that finally, _finally_ , his boy was walking. He was the last of the babies to walk, despite being the second eldest. Astrid Hofferson was not even a year old when she had started walking. The gaggle of little ones would toddle off on their adventures leaving Hiccup to crawl behind them, but no more.

Hiccup was _walking_.

"Oof!" He fell to the floor with a thump. His grin was infectious, but he was panting.

"It's hard work," Stoick rustled his hair with a chuckle.

"I walk!"

"Aye, you did. You're a big boy now."

"I play with Sod and Az now?"

"Tomorrow."

"Is to-morrow-row?"

Stoick smirked, "Tomorrow comes after you sleep."

"Sleep. Bed."

"That's right, you sleep in your bed."

"Dada sleep?"

"Daddy can't sleep right now Hiccup, he has work to do."

"Work. Hic work with Dada."

"No, Hic sleep."

Despite his protests, Hiccup's mouth spread into a perfect yawn…one that Stoick repeated.

"Alright, to bed, let's go."

Hiccup stuck his arms up for Stoick to carry him. The boy was so light, he was merely a feather in Stoick's arms.

 _Just like his mother_ , he thought with a sigh.

"Dada sad?" Hiccup chirped, his fingers gently nestled in Stoick's beard.

"No, Daddy isn't sad. Daddy has you."

His little brows furrowed: "Mama sad?" he whispered. Stoick paused.

"Why is Mama sad?"

"Mama no has Hic."

Stoick tugged his son closer against his tunic.

"No, Mama isn't sad. She's watching you from Valhalla."

Stoick knew that his son was too young to understand life and death, but he was not too young to understand the absence of a loved one. Stoick knew that Hiccup could not possibly remember her…but if his friends had mothers, Hiccup must be wondering where his mother was. He would look for her, every so often, which would result in tears and frustration from both of them.

"Goodnight Hiccup," Stoick laid him down in his bed, tucking his toy dragon in with him.

Hiccup's eyes were half closed when he whispered back: "Night Dada."

Tiptoeing to the doorway, Stoick paused when he heard Hiccup's voice once more.

"Night Mama."

* * *

"What's this?" Valka sat upright in her collection of furs as heavy footsteps landed on the cavern floor. Cloud Jumper, high on his perch above her, merely opened an eye. He grumbled and settled back down to sleep.

There was a Nightmare in Valka's cave.

Of course, there were tons of Nightmares on this island…they were fairly populous after all. Valka had started to relax around the once feared creatures…she had begun to relax around _all_ the dragons actually.

With a yawn, Valka rose from her bed…an assortment of various furs and blankets. The dragons had taken to bringing her things upon their return from flights. Some things were essentials, such as fabric or food. Others were comical things…a doll…some poor person's peg leg…

The Nightmare was no exception to this deed. It had in its jaws, a knapsack.

"Now who did you take this from?" Valka approached the dragon cautiously. She had learned to crouch slightly, hands extended, to show the dragon that you were unarmed. Just as she expected, the Nightmare did not flinch, rather it dropped the knapsack to the ground.

Out poured pages and pages of blank parchment.

"Ah! Paper!" Valka squealed with delight. One of the dragons had brought her a book on plants that, although useful, Valka could not find the heart to scribble or doodle over. This paper was clean, virginal, and ripe for Valka's pen…

"Thank you!" Valka said to the dragon. The Nightmare purred in its throat before leaning its head forward against hers. Valka froze; normally a dragon took a bit longer to become so affectionate…but this dragon seemed to bypass the formalities.

"It…can't be…" she muttered, taking a harder look at the dragon. While dragon species looked alike, to the trained eye there were distinct differences from dragon to dragon. Two blue Nadders could have different undertones in their scales. Gronkles teeth could sit differently in their mouths. This Nightmare was a lighter color, practically pink.

It had been nighttime the last time Valka had seen this dragon…but there was no doubt in her mind that they were one and the same.

"I remember you!" she exclaimed joyfully. Yes, this was the Nightmare she had saved the night she was taken…the one where she had stopped a Viking's axe from falling against its neck. "You made it out alright I see."

The Nightmare rubbed against Valka's body, encircling her. It enticed her for scratches beneath its chin, an action that Valka happily obliged.

Until Cloud Jumper hopped in between them.

"Hey!" Valka snarled at her kidnapper. Cloud Jumper ignored Valka, and instead turned towards the Nightmare with a hiss. Valka tried to intervene, but the Nightmare scurried off in alarm.

"You big jerk," Valka scooped up her gift, sticking her tongue out at him. "In case you haven't realized you're not the _only_ dragon in this mountain."

Cloud Jumper remained unfazed. He simply leaped back up to his perch, his long tail dangling down in front of Valka's bed. She huffed, settling back down, too agitated and too excited to fall back asleep. There was still a fire in her tiny hearth, enough light to see the lines her charcoal pencil would soon make on the parchment. The pencil itself had been another token from another dragon…a Terrible Terror…but it had sat unusable for months now.

The first thing Valka did was write her name. Then, she wrote it again, and again…a hundred times until she had a page filled with her name:

Valka

Valka Jorgenson

Valka Haddock

Then, laying on her belly, Valka began to draw.

It had been ages since she had drawn anything…being a wife and a mother left her without time for such things…but now she had nothing but time.

She drew Cloud Jumper, her cavern home, even the great Bewilderbeast that watched over them. She sketched herself, as best as she could remember. Then, besides the curve of her shoulder, she began to draw a strong figure: Stoick. She shuddered for a moment as she had nearly forgotten how he braided his beard. She shook her head, determined not to forget.

Then, she drew Hiccup.

Oh, what a sweet babe…he was a little boy now, almost two by her calculations…but to Valka he was still the infant she clutched to her chest. She drew the fine, feathery hair atop his head, the round curious eyes that glistened with wonder. With a sigh, she drew a tiny mark on his chin…the mark that her kidnapper had given her son. It had been an accident, Valka knew that…but after seeing the damage that dragon claws can do, she began to doubt if the mark would ever leave his skin.

Hiccup's tiny mouth faded with a smudge.

Valka hadn't realized she had started crying.

"Oh…oh no…"

Try as she could to correct her mistake, Valka found she could not. Instead, she tore a hole in the paper, its rip echoing the tearing of her heart.

"No, no, no, _no_!" Valka screeched, doubling over as she clutched the parchment in her hands. Her spine ached as she sobbed, her chest heaving, unable to keep air within.

"Why?" She found her voice, glottal and angered. "Why did you bring me here?!"

She stood up, balling up her ruined art, and hurled it at Cloud Jumper. The dragon scrunched his nose in surprise, but made no other motion.

"I was happy on Berk! I had a son, a husband, friends… _everything_ …so _why_!? Why me!?"

In a frantic hurry, she gathered up what few belongings she had, and tied one of the furs together into a sack. She stood beneath Cloud Jumper's perch, the dragon waving his tail lazily as he glanced down at her, unamused.

"Take me back," she demanded. When the dragon did not budge, she stamped her foot.

"I said, take me back home!"

Cloud Jumper rolled off of his belly and onto his back, stretching his legs in the space above him.

Valka roared: "I WANT TO GO HOME! TAKE ME HOME! TAKE ME HOME!"

She screeched until her voice went hoarse, until all she could manage were tiny squeaks of anger. Cloud Jumper remained unfazed, his eyes relentless in their staring. No other dragons came by to investigate, it was simply the two of them.

Valka fell to her knees, her energy spent. Only then did Cloud Jumper descend.

"Is it my fault?" she whispered, leaning into the dragon's presence. His massive head laid in her lap, his spines relaxed. "Did I do something?"

Cloud Jumper hummed in his chest.

"Or maybe…something I haven't done yet?"

No response. Valka sighed.

"I should have just ran out of that house the minute the raid began. I should have just taken Hiccup and not looked back, but no…I had to be selfish and…" she glanced over to the parchment, "Merciful."

 _Dragon lover._

 _Weirdo._

 _Captive._

"Hiccup and Stoick almost died, because of me…because I couldn't let that man kill that dragon…because I couldn't kill…" she choked on the thought. Despite Cloud Jumper's actions, she had spent more time loving the dragon than loathing it…much more time in fact. The idea of taking Stoick's sword at running it through the Storm Cutter sent a shiver down her spine.

It was almost as powerful a thought as Stoick and Hiccup's deaths.

"I never deserved them," she wiped her nose on her sleeve, "I almost got them killed."

And how could she go back, having seen what she has seen and knowing what she knows. Berk was an obstinate boulder: its people could not be convinced of anything other than the mind hive belief. They would not, could not change, no matter how hard she begged or how much evidence she presented.

Not even Stoick.

She fingered at the band, still on her finger after all this time.

 _With this ring, I pledge to you not only my heart, but my mind, spirit, and body. All are yours from this day until my last day, from this life into what lies beyond. I vow to honor you, cherish you, and keep you as a wife, a partner, and a friend…_

"From this life into what lies beyond…" she muttered, "Well, here's what lies beyond, my love."

Though her heart was in a clouded state, her mind was perfectly clear.

Painful as it was, Valka knew she had to stay away, from Berk, from her family, from Stoick.

They'd be better off without her anyway.

Without her, they might have a chance of surviving.

At least, she hoped they might.


	42. The Runt

**So this has been one of my favorite chapters to write just because of little Hiccup! No Valka in this chapter, but some semi-big revelations! Hopefully it's not too long. Please leave a review if you'd like :)  
**

* * *

"Hi Hiccup!" Chubby and gap toothed Fishlegs Ingerman waved his hand frantically. It was summertime, and the days had grown long and hot. Hiccup stood timidly on the grass while the remainder of the children scurried about on the beach. The years had shined upon them…

But not Hiccup.

"There's Fishlegs," Stoick whispered into his son's ear, "Go on and play."

"Um…no thanks," five year old Hiccup turned abruptly on his heel, preparing to march back to the safety of the village. Stoick hooked a finger in the collar of his tunic, hoisting his son up.

"Hiccup, we've been over this…"

"I know Daddy," Hiccup clutched his dragon toy to his chest, burying his nose into its face, "I know you have-"

"I can't hear you son-"

"I know you have the big meeting and that Uncle Gobber can't watch me a-cuz he needs to be at the meeting, and Aunt Lundy and Aunt Sol are here with all the other kids and I need to stay here a-cuz they can't leave the beach."

As soon as he finished giving his explanation, Hiccup's face went back into the plush dragon.

Stoick sighed.

"I won't be long-"

"You're always long-"

There were tears in his eyes, those forest green eyes of his that were almost too big for his face. He looked so much like Valka, it was painful for Stoick to even look at him some days.

"Why don't you go build a sand ship…you liked that the one time."

Hiccup shuffled in place.

"Cuz you helped me."

"Son, I can't always be by your side…you are with adults too much. You need to play with the other kids. You'll be warriors together one day," Hiccup sniffled into his toy's face; Stoick made a mental note to wash the toy later. "Go on and play, I'll be back before you know it."

He knelt in front of Hiccup, who shyly nestled his body against Stoick's shoulder.

"I love you son,"

"I love you Daddy."

"Go build me a warship that we can sail together."

The idea made Hiccup brighten. Though he was slow to meet the other children, he wasn't crying. The toy had even been moved away from his face, though it remained in his clutches. Though Stoick remained out of Hiccup's line of sight, he continued to watch his son. He sat down near Fishlegs, but did not interact with the Ingerman boy. The dragon toy was in the sand beside him.

The summer sunshine brought out the red in Hiccup's hair…the one miniscule thing he had inherited from Stoick. He was Valka's son through and through…skinny, big eyed, long limbed, and curious beyond belief. By the time he was three, Hiccup was already reading and writing…most of the other children now were hardly able to write their names. Hiccup could write it with both hands, though he preferred the left. Stoick was pleased that Hiccup had inherited his mother's mind.

Only two things were uniquely Hiccup: his short stature, and that accursed scar on his chin.

* * *

"What's that?" Tuffnut Thorston came over to Hiccup, still sucking his thumb despite it being covered in sand.

"It's a boat, dummy," Ruffnut Thorston rolled her eyes. The two were identical in every way, from their braided white blond hair, to the mischievous glint in their blue eyes.

Hiccup curled his knees up into his chest, insecure and uncomfortable.

"We don't have a boat like that," Tuffnut continued, examining his wet thumb before sticking it back in the sand. Once thoroughly coated, he popped it back into his mouth.

With a shudder, Hiccup stuttered out: "It's my idea."

The twins stared in amazement.

"Whoa!" they exclaimed together. Hiccup, his chest filling with pride, explained all of the parts of the sand ship.

"And this is where my daddy is going to steer the ship, and when I'm bigger he's gonna let me do it, but I get to raise the sails with the ropes, and after I do that I get to be the lookout for dragons!" He pointed to a small square mark in the sand, "See that? That's where the dragons are gonna go when me and daddy catch them."

"Hah!" Someone snorted. Hiccup's confidence vanished in an instant.

Snotlout was approaching.

"You mean when Uncle Stoick catches them."

"I can help…" Hiccup mumbled, his fingers reaching for his dragon companion.

" _My_ dad says you get in the way and that you need to stay inside."

"You do too," another voice entered. Blonde pigtailed Astrid Hofferson kicked at the sand with her bare feet, looking bored and displeased. "Mama says we're not old enough to fight."

"I fighted a dragon once!" Snotlout declared, "I killed it dead!"

"Were you dreaming?"

The quip came from Hiccup. The five pairs of eyes turned to look at him, four of them squinting in amusement.

Snotlout's, however, were not.

Without another word, Snotlout brought his foot down upon Hiccup's sand boat, sending up a spray of fine, stinging sand.

"Hey!" Astrid swatted at him.

Hiccup had retrieved his dragon toy and clutched it to his chest.

Snotlout promptly resumed his teasing.

"That's a baby toy. Are you a baby?"

"I'm not a baby," Hiccup tried to suppress his tears, "It's my friend. It has my name, see?" He showed it to his peers before adding, "My mama made it for me."

"You have a mama?" Fishlegs asked, glancing around. "Where is she?"

"She's in Valhalla," Hiccup felt proud for declaring his mother a hero.

"She's in a dragon's belly," Snotlout retorted.

Hiccup gaped at his cousin, heat rushing to his ears in a rare fit of rage.

"No she's not. Take that back Snotty!"

"That's what my dad said! She said that his sister got too close to a dragon and it took her off and eated her all up."

"You're cousins?" Fishleg asked.

"Yes—"

"No!" Snotlout grumbled, "My dad said I'm not related to the runt."

Hiccup felt his lower lip pucker out. _Don't cry Hic, don't cry_ …

"But we are cousins!"

He stood up, his hands curling at his sides in a motion he had never experienced before.

"And my mama wasn't eaten by a dragon!"

With all of his strength, Hiccup beat his hands against Snotlout's chest, throwing him backwards. Snotlout tumbled to the ground, spraying up sand and colliding against Astrid's shin. The Hofferson girl jumped back in alarm while Snotlout, to everyone's surprise, began to bawl.

"Snotty!" Lundy rushed over with Solfrid close behind. She scooped up Snotlout in her arms. "What happened? Are you hurt? Did you fall down?"

Snotlout extended a short, round finger in Hiccup's direction, "He—he—he pushed me!"

Two angry eyes greeted Hiccup when he finally raised his eyes from the ground.

"Hiccup Haddock…" his Aunt Lundy began through clenched teeth, "Did you push your cousin?"

"I…" Hiccup stammered, his hand reaching for his toy, only for it to be too far away, "I…"

"He did Mama! He did!" Snotlout howled, burying his red, swollen face into Lundy's chest.

"Oh Hiccup!" Solfrid gasped, shaking her head in disappointment.

"But…but…but he-" Hiccup glanced over at the other children, who were all conveniently looking everywhere but him. Astrid frowned as she inspected her shin. Fishlegs looked ready to cry himself. The twins looked pleasantly pleased, as if they were happy they were not the ones in trouble.

Without an ally by his side, Hiccup did the only logical thing.

He ran.

* * *

It was hours before they found him. Despite an island wide search for the chief's son, with all Vikings on hand to help, no one thought to look in the tiny shack attached to the forge.

No one except for Gobber.

The smithy entered the shack impatiently, not expecting to find anything of value in there. It was his cat nap spot when he couldn't afford to leave the forge for a long time. He expected to find it right as he left it: unmade, unkempt, and unoccupied. He was not expecting to find the tiny runt of a boy curled up behind the pillow on the bed, his form so small that he could actually conceal himself well enough.

He winced when he realized he had been caught.

"Easy lad, it's just me. You know Uncle Gobber won't hurt you."

Hiccup was sniffling, "But the others might."

"No one wants to hurt you Hiccup, we just want to make sure you were safe."

This did not appease the boy. Gobber sighed: "It's late you know. Probably past your bedtime. Aren't you tired?"

He shook his head, his hair flapping around. Suddenly, Gobber was struck by an idea.

"Why don't you come out to the forge with me? I could use your help."

"Me?" Hiccup's inquisitive green eyes peeked out from hiding.

"Er…yes…" Gobber began, realizing that Stoick would kill him for allowing a five year old little boy among molten metal and sharp tools. He decided to improvise, "You see…one of my wrenches, my favorite one actually, fell behind some of the bellows. I'd get it myself but," he chuckled, gesturing to his belly, "It's really far back there. I need someone small…and smart…"

"I'm small and smart!" Hiccup grinned, his freckled face alight with glee. "I'll do it!"

"Good lad, come on then."

* * *

Gobber had to act quickly: he tossed a wrench into the crevices between the bellows before Hiccup could fully absorb what was happening. The boy was nosy and curious, which meant easily distracted. Easily distracted meant easily fooled.

"Ah, you see it?"

Hiccup crouched down, a furrow formed between his brows as his nose scrunched up.

 _Just like his mother,_ Gobber thought sadly.

"Couldn't you just get a stick?" he asked.

"A stick?" Gobber faltered for a moment, before improvising. He had a flair for dramatics. "Oh Hiccup! I've tried all types of sticks: fat sticks, skinny sticks, oak, elm, ash, pine…but it's no use! My wrench is gone forever!"

With a tiny smile, Hiccup appeased him: "Don't worry Uncle Gobber, I got it."

The boy crawled into the crevice, his skinny shoulders fitting through with ease. It wasn't even three seconds later that he reemerged with the wrench in his palm.

"Oh thank you Hiccup. You've done an old man such a favor."

"Why didn't you just take off your hook and use it with your other hand?" Hiccup sat crisscrossed on the forge floor, wide eyes gazing up at Gobber as if he had two heads. "It would have been longer. Oh! Maybe you could make a longer hook or a hook that extends when you have a button, like _whoosh_!" He threw his hands up in the air, imitating the supposed sound an extendable hook would make.

Gobber chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair.

"If I ever get the chance maybe I will-"

"What's that?" Hiccup pointed off to a large steel bowl. Before Gobber could answer, Hiccup was already beside the bowl, inspecting it with his eyes and fingers.

"That is bucket-"

"It's not a bucket, where's the handle-"

"It's _called_ a bucket-"

"That's a weird name-"

"I didn't name it-"

"Is it for water?"

"Will you let me finish lad?" Gobber wanted to laugh, cry, and scream at the same time, "It's called a bucket. It's part of a new catapult your father asked me to help build."

"Cat-a-pult," Hiccup tried out the new word on his tongue, "What's it do?"

"What's it do? Have you ever seen a slingshot?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well it's like that, but bigger…much bigger…and you don't pull back on it with your hands. There's a rope that pulls the bucket back, and an arm that connects it to the frame. It's a lever, so once that rope is released, the arm is going to launch the bucket up, and whatever is in the bucket is going to fly far across the battlefield, and hopefully hit whatever it is we're aiming for."

Hiccup, though thoughtful in his expression, shook his head.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"What?"

"You said there's an arm and frame and stuff…where's that?"

"These things take time Hiccup! The bucket is the only thing that's been made!"

"But what if there's a battle, and you don't have the cat-a-pult ready? Would we lose?"

"I—"

For the first time in a long time, Gobber was rendered speechless.

Hiccup smirked, a sweet yet conniving little grin.

"It's okay Uncle Gobber. Sometimes I ask Daddy questions that give him that funny face too."

* * *

Stoick felt a flurry of emotions: relief, anger, gratitude…all aimed at his best friend.

"Why didn't you get me right away?" He stomped besides Gobber.

"The lad was scared and needed to calm down."

"So it took you _two hours_ -"

"You'd be surprised how long it takes for a five year old boy to calm down. If I was able to get him to the leave the forge then believe me I would have taken him straight to you…but he had a thousand questions about everything in there…even a screw. A _screw_ , Stoick!"

Stoick shook his head, empathizing with his friend and chastising him all the same.

"Thank you for watching him, but next time, come straight to me. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it."

Gobber led Stoick into the cluttered forge where, on top of a schematic covered table, laid Hiccup. He was fast asleep on his belly, his fist tucked underneath his chin. His body rose and fell with deep even breaths. His eyebrows were raised, as if he had been in the middle of a question when sleep had overpowered him. Knowing Hiccup, that was probably the case.

Without waking him, Stoick wrapped his arm around him, and carried him home.

* * *

Hiccup was awake in his home, but not in his room. It took him a minute to realize whereabouts his house he was located, only to recognize the pillars that lined the sides of the room. He pushed himself back slightly to see that he was laying on his father's chest, in his father's chair. Stoick was sound asleep, his mouth partly open to release a great beastly snore. With careful movements, Hiccup slide off of his father's chest and landed silently on the floor.

To his surprise, his beloved dragon toy was besides the armchair, as if it had been waiting for Hiccup to come home. Hiccup hugged his toy tightly, making a silent promise to never leave it again.

Then, dragon in tow, Hiccup tiptoed into the kitchen for some breakfast. To his great disappointment, there was nothing he could eat that didn't require cooking it first. The biscuits were gone, as were the salted strips of meat. With a sigh, Hiccup padded back to his father, and pulled on his sleeve.

"Daddy?"

Stoick jumped awake, his hands frantically searching for something to use as a weapon. Only when he caught sight of Hiccup standing timidly beside him did he calm.

"Oh, Hiccup…you startled me."

Hiccup winced. He knew his father was angry with him. Furious. He tucked his chin down and looked at his feet as if they were the most amazing thing in the world. Anything to avoid his father's eye.

"Hiccup…why did you run away yesterday?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Hiccup…look at me."

The boy shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes already. He could hear his father sigh before feeling his feet leave the ground. His father had hoisted him up onto his lap.

"Can you tell me what happened on the beach yesterday?"

No one had told him? Hiccup was amazed. Grownups always love to tell on other people's kids.

"I pushed Snotlout."

"You…pushed him?"

"Uh-huh."

"Hard?"

"He fell down and cried. Astrid got her leg bumped."

"I see…" Hiccup could see his father's hand running through his beard. He tensed.

"I'm sorry Daddy. Snotlout made me mad and I know I'm not a-pposed to hit until I'm a grown up, but I did it even when I knew I wasn't a-pposed to."

"That's good that you know you shouldn't hit others…but why did you hit him?"

"He said he wasn't my cousin."

Stoick inhaled sharply, "He said that?"

"He said that Uncle Spitelout said that he wasn't related to _the runt_ …Daddy am I the runt?"

"What? No, no of course not Hiccup…I'll need to talk to your Uncle Spitelout about this."

"Why does Snotlout not want to be my cousin Daddy?"

"I don't know son…" his father paused. "Did Snotlout, say anything else to make you mad?"

"He squished my sand ship-"

"Ah, well-"

"And he said Mama was eated by a dragon."

Now Stoick went silent. Hiccup sat, waiting for his father to speak, but could only hear the heavy whoosh of air coming in and out of his body. He counted to twenty before calling:

"Daddy? Mama's in Valhalla…right? She couldn't be there if a dragon eated her…right?"

Stoick's hands reached around Hiccup's abdomen, and gently placed him down on the ground. The Chief rose from his seat before kneeling on the floor before his son. Tears were in his father's eyes.

"I wanted to wait until you were older to tell you…I thought it would be better," Stoick pressed his hand against Hiccup's cheek. "Your mother was taken away by a dragon during a raid. We looked for her, I looked for her…but we never found her. Son…you know what that means, right?"

Hiccup nodded shyly, "She was eated."

"Aye…she was."

"But…is she still in Valhalla?"

"She died in battle. I'm sure a Valkyrie called her home."

"So Snotlout was right," Hiccup frowned.

"Aye, he was…but that doesn't mean you were wrong."

Despite his efforts to maintain the floodgates, Hiccup began to weep. He placed his trembling fists against his eyes.

"Hiccup, son, I'm not angry. I'm not going to yell-"

"How come everyone else has a mommy and I don't?"

"Hiccup-"

"Snotlout, Astrid, Fishlegs, Ruff, and Tuff all gots mommies and I'm the only one that doesn't! It's not fair!"

"I know son, gods I know," Stoick pulled him against his chest, shaking from the threatening tears, "But you know your mother is watching you from Valhalla, just like your grandparents, remember?"

"But I want Mommy _here_ ," Hiccup sobbed.

Stoick, unable to resist any longer, shared in his son's anguish.

"So do I Hiccup, so do I."

* * *

"Jorgenson!"

Stoick stomped his way down the dock to where Spitelout was helping fold a fishing net. The younger man straightened, swiping his hands together.

"Yeah Chief?"

Stoick's fist collided with Spitelout's jaw before he could fully turn around.

Spitelout, dazed, crumpled to the dock. Stoick hoisted him up by his collar.

"So now my son is a _runt_?"

"What?"

"You called _my_ son a runt…that your kid wasn't related to mine."

"Where did you…" Spitelout's light eyes widened. In a huff, Stoick released him and stomped back up the dock, gesturing for Spitelout to follow. The remaining Vikings on the dock glanced at one another in shock, surprise and, for some, amusement.

The confrontation took place in a fishing shack, a storage space for nets, hooks, rods, and spears. The two men had to stand a mere inch away from one another in order to fit, a fact that neither found pleasant. "Your son told Hiccup that there was no way he was related 'to the runt,' which apparently _you_ told Snotlout."

"I never told Snotlout that, I don't know where he heard it from-"

"From you! He said that clear as day."

"According to who-"

"My son-"

"He's lying-"

"Oh so now my son is a runt _and_ a liar? Hiccup doesn't lie; he stammers and stutters enough that he's figure out not to do it. He's smart like that. So tell me… _why_ did you say my son was a _runt_?"

"Because he _is_ Stoick!" Spitelout threw up his hands, exasperated. "Just look at him! He's shorter than all of the others, his arms are _this thick_ ," he held up his fingers closely in a near pinch. "He can barely carry around whatever book he's reading; half the books are bigger than him!"

"That doesn't make him a runt! He's _five_ , Spitelout. He'll grow!" Stoick wanted to turn around, to pace as was his normal fashion…but he couldn't. "Do you really doubt that he's Valka's son?"

"Of course I don't! I was there, Lundy was there; my gods he looks just like her!" To Stoick's surprise, he saw the glistening of tears in Spitelout's eyes. "Look, I was stupid and I shouldn't have said it. I had a bad night and I told Lundy…that…I didn't think Snotlout would hear."

"But he did, and now Hiccup's all upset," Stoick sighed. "He also told him what happened."

"Why shouldn't the boy know how his mother died?"

"I was going to tell him-"

"When? After it's too late for him and he's taken away? Or when you finally start feeling guilty-"

" _I do feel guilty_!" Stoick roared, "Gods you dense bastard! Don't you get it? Every second of my life is a living reminder of how _I_ couldn't save her! How I let this happen! Waking up in an empty bed on in a house that was built from ruins? Greeting my son who is _just like her_ , down to how he eats _stew_?"

Spitelout smirked fondly, "Broth first?"

"Broth first," Stoick exhaled.

Spitelout ran a hand through his black hair. The outrage had seemed to evaporate out of that little shack, now that both men could recall a fond memory.

"Some nights I get really low. I…I had too much at the hall. Lundy wasn't happy. I told her that…that if it wasn't for Hiccup, maybe Valka would still be here-"

"You _dare-_ "

"She was taken trying to save Hiccup…and you. You said it yourself the cradle had been upstairs, but when the house burned it was _downstairs_. She was going to take it with her, with them. Gods she put Hiccup first above her common sense."

"It was the dragon; that's the reason, the _only_ reason she's gone."

"I know…I know Stoick...but that night I just thought what if…what if Hiccup hadn't been born. Would Valka still be here?" Spitelout shut his eyes, "I know it's not right to blame a baby…but she was my sister, Stoick. The only sibling I ever had, and she's gone. Five years she's been gone." He chuckled bitterly, "And then I think…was he even worth it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Stoick, he's small: skin and bones really. If the village wasn't constantly on the watch for him, or if he wasn't coddled by you…do you really think he'd make it? All of the other kids have to run to the safe house, but Hiccup is _carried_. Sometimes I can't help but wonder…is he even going to survive this world?"

Stoick puffed up his chest. He had had enough. Family or not, Spitelout was pushing the envelope.

"Listen here Spitelout: he may be Valka's son but he is also _mine_. He is smart—brilliant in fact, and where he lacks muscle he makes up for in wit. He'll not only survive, he'll _thrive-_ "

He winced, recollecting saying something similar to Valka all those years ago.

"And he'll be chief one day, so you best watch you say to your son about his cousin: your _nephew_."

Stoick leaned in close, he could see his figure reflected in Spitelout's eyes.

"You're family, but don't forget whose son it is you're talking about, Jorgenson."


	43. The Ship

"Mercy!" Valka cried across the greenery outside her cave. High up near the icy dome, a Nightmare poked its head out excitedly, before gliding down to join Valka and Cloudjumper. Valka waited for a count of three before four little figures fluttered down in a chorus of squeaks and clicks. Valka chuckled as they landed clumsily, their bodies entwining with one another until it was a clump of Nightmare babies.

"North, come on…get off your brothers," Valka chided as the largest of the babies, a cyan female, perched on top of the three smaller males. She purred mischievously, opening her mouth to show off her teeth in a dragon smile. "Oh yes, you are so fierce, my littlest girl," Valka scooped up the baby in her arms, freeing the three remaining ones from their sister's might. They chirped in glee.

The boys: East, South, and West, were all a variation of green. East was green with yellow; South was pure green, and West was a pale green with red and orange stripes. Upon seeing their sister in Valka's arms, the boys attacked, knocking Valka down off of her feet.

Cloudjumper fussed, but Valka could only giggle.

"Oh no! I am outnumbered! However will I get out of this?"

South managed to pull off one of Valka's boots and began to flutter away with it. Cloudjumper gently tugged the hatchling's tail by way of his mouth. South, pouting in defeat, dropped his prize. East, the laziest of the siblings, was falling asleep on Valka's shoulders, while North and West fought over Valka's braids.

"Alright, alright," Valka chuckled, removing the unconscious hatchling from her shoulders, "That's enough. I only wanted to see how my littlest friends are doing." North nudged Valka's face, enticing her to rub their noses together. "Soon you'll be able to come fly with Cloudjumper, right my friend?"

Cloudjumper practically rolled his eyes. Valka smirked.

"They're all yours Mercy," she said to the mother Nightmare, the same one she had saved five years ago. Mercy called out to her babies, who flocked around her obediently, while Valka stepped closer to the edge overlooking the lagoon. She bowed deeply as the snow white Bewilderbeast raised his massive head towards her perch. Its icy blue eyes found her immediately, as they had nearly every day for the past five years. Valka could not help but smile in fondness for the dragon king: he was a benevolent ruler. He sought fealty through kindness and fortitude instead of fear and power.

Valka only wished that all humans could be that way.

In a way…he reminded her of Stoick.

The Bewilderbeast grunted, lowering his head back down into the crystal clear pool. Other dragons scurried around his form, bowing in turn as they approached. The king even allowed a tired, elderly dragon respite on one of his tusks. Despite her time in his domain, Valka had never touched the king, for the king answered to no one.

Cloudjumper, however, answered to the both of them, and he was not particularly patient today.

"Alright you big grump, I hear you," Valka reached up as he lowered one of his wings down. Valka grabbed on to the claw as he lifted her up onto his back. Valka crouched, the signal for Cloudjumper to take off.

They sailed through one of the vent holes built into the ice, greeting the blinding sunshine. As soon as they steadied, Valka leapt up onto her feet, throwing her arms out on either side with a whoop.

The air, the sea, the sky…Valka felt magnificent, untouchable. Free.

"Go ahead Cloudjumper, let's see if we can do it today!" She called over the roar of the wind. Cloudjumper obliged, performing his favorite trick: an aileron roll to the side. Valka, quick on her feet, stepped against his roll, remaining perfectly upright until he resumed his original position.

Valka beamed: "Perfect timing!"

Cloudjumper warbled in relief. He was never fond of Valka's daring, but Valka had discovered that he enjoyed her smile more than he enjoyed making a fuss. He unfurled his second set of wings as they settled into a glide.

Comfortable, Valka laid back, sunshine kissing her face. She sighed, contently.

"Where shall we journey off to today? Go watch the Scauldron pod migration? Go up north?"

Cloudjumper remained silent. He tugged slightly west, an unusual direction. The winds were working against them, which meant Valka needed to hang on as Cloudjumper fought the breeze.

"Okay, wherever you want to go off to I guess…" she muttered nervously. It was not like Cloudjumper to be this silent and, well, stoic. She could only sit and try to relax, though she could feel his body tense beneath her.

They stopped and rested on a small island inhabited by an odd array of dragons. They had visited there before, so the dragons were familiar with Valka, but they seemed agitated. Spikes and spines rattled as they chattered in hushed, anxious tones. Valka frowned; even after all she had learned about dragons these past five years, she could not speak their language.

A Terror had nestled onto her lap for a snooze. Valka felt weary herself: the sunshine, the fresh air, the traveling…it was exhilarating yet exhausting all at the same time. Her eyelids became heavy, and the last thing she saw before she slipped off into slumber was a crowd of smaller dragons encircling Cloudjumper…

* * *

It was nighttime when she finally woke. The dragons, even her beloved kidnapper, had vanished.

"Cloudjumper?" she whispered into the inky blackness of night. Living in caves had caused her eyes to adjust to darkness, but Valka remained in unfamiliar territory. The absence of dragons alarmed her: dragons abandoned a location en masse when there was trouble. Even more concerning was how her fiercely protective Stormcutter friend had not woken her, had not whisked her off someplace safe.

But why exactly was this tiny island no longer safe?

She stepped down the loamy slope onto the banks of the great sea. The moon was a tiny sliver in the sky, making visibility minimal…but even she could see the outline of a great ship off in the distance.

 _What are Vikings doing this far away?_ She asked, kneeling down to remain invisible.

Even from a distance, she could hear shouting…were the sailors in trouble?

That was when she saw Cloudjumper diving towards the ship, unleashing an inferno...

"No!"

She searched for something, for anything that could get her out to that ship, to no avail. The dragons were gone, and she was forced to watch in horror as fire rained down upon the ship.

Five years of learning, of studying, or _living_ amongst them…dismantled before her eyes.

Wrong.

She was so, _so_ wrong.

* * *

"I don't want to see you," Valka hissed as Cloudjumper made his way back to her. Dawn was breaking, and Valka could see the smoldering remains of the ship on the horizon. She had been helpless, watching the ship burst into flames, running aground, hearing the desperate cries of the men on board.

Gods…it could have been _Stoick_ …

Cloudjumper sniffed at her hair. Valka lashed out at him: "I said get away from me!"

Perplexed, the dragon sat, his yellow eyes wide with hurt.

"How could you?" her lip trembled. She bit into the chapped flesh to keep from crying, to no avail. "Those people did _nothing_ to you, and you just killed them! Why!?"

That was when she noticed the wounds on his foreleg: a bola rope from the looks of it. Though the weapon itself was absent, the cut was deep. She hadn't noticed him limping.

But anger could not give way to sympathy.

"Serves you right," she huffed, standing, "and it serves me right for trusting you."

She walked away, not expecting the ground beneath her feet to shrink away rapidly. Cloudjumper had grabbed a hold of her in his jaws, dangling her from the back of her tunic, speeding across the water.

"Cloudjumper! What is the _matter_ with you!?"

The dragon's eyes were focused, intent on the shipwreck ahead.

Yet again, Valka found herself a prisoner to the dragon's will.

The ship was, _had_ been larger than any she had seen on Berk. Its mast had splintered, falling into the sea while the bow had run up onto rocks, leaving a sizeable hole in the hull. A few fires remained burning here and there, though there was no sign of life. The thought was sickening, and Valka dared not look into the surrounding waters for floating bodies.

But then...she saw something else.

"Take me down Cloudjumper," she said tensely. The dragon obliged.

Though half of the ship was below water, a good section of the hold remained dry up to the ankles. The water was freezing, yet Valka descended through the sizable hole in the deck. The dawn gave her just enough light to see, to notice a strange apparatus in front of her.

She had seen similar things before, though never quite this big. Never so large that they went from nearly floor to ceiling. The half dozen contraptions were on wheels: a series of domed metal hemispheres. Valka recalled seeing Berk's hunters using similar domes to hunt squirrels or rabbits…but this…

The ship shifted, the added weight causing it to slip from its accidental moorings. Valka could hear the steady streaming of water entering the hull: it would only take a few minutes for the ship to sink completely.

Valka made ready to leave, only to hear a frightened growl coming from inside a shell of metal.

"Oh my gods," Valka gasped, returning to the trap. Searching, Valka found a wheel, a locking mechanism for a crank. With desperate, trembling hands she worked, using every bit of strength against the rusted, salt stained gears. Slowly, the terrible metal teeth of the dome began to open.

Inside, there was a feeble, malnourished, female Thornridge.

"Oh!" Valka, without thinking, jumped into the trap. The dragon reared up, only for its head to become entangled in chains; the leather around its snout dug deeper into its skin.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay girl, it's okay." Valka glanced down at her feet; the water was seeping in. Her boots were soaked. "I'm here to help. I'm a friend. Just hold on."

Valka managed to yank the leather muzzle off, but she could not remove the iron chains.

The dragon seemed too frightened to move.

"Cloudjumper!" Valka called. The Stormcutter appeared almost immediately. "Help me!"

Darting out of the way, Valka watched as Cloudjumper released a quick jet of flame against one of the metal tethers. The chain separated, but the cuff remained. Steam began to fill the dome as the hot metal sank into the rising water.

"Hurry!" Valka ordered. Cloudjumper repeated the action two more times, but on the fourth leg his breath could not compete against the churning ocean water. Valka was now up to her waist, and sinking fast.

"Come on!" She cried, tugging on the final chain. "Help me!"

Gulping down a breath, Valka dove beneath the frigid water, feeling the chill penetrate her bones. She tugged and tugged as hard as she could; her nails broke as she scratched at the obdurate metal. She felt her teeth ache from the strength at which she clenched them. The Thornridge gave one final, pitiful moan before the dots that lingered in the corners of Valka's vision tossed her into a void.

All was silent and so unforgivingly cold.

* * *

Valka knew whose body she was curled up against, whose heat it was that kept her jaws from clacking, yet for a moment she was able to convince herself that it was Stoick. Though they would fall asleep on their respective sides of the bed, Valka would often wake to find Stoick's arms and legs curled around her, as if the distance slumber brought was too much for him to bear. Valka sighed, forcing her eyes open to find herself facing Cloudjumper's chest, his legs and wings tucked about her, his heat forming a bubble of warmth.

He warbled softly, noticing her cognizance. Limbs untangled, and Valka was faced with the midmorning sunshine beating down on her.

Sitting up with an aching chest, Valka could no longer see the wreckage out on the water. It, and the captive dragon, were lost beneath the waves. She screamed a long, piercing cry of anguish.

"I'm sorry," Valka tucked her knees beneath her chin, "I'm sorry I couldn't save her."

Cloudjumper nuzzled his cheek against her, purring softly, sadly. Her tears felt frozen.

"That's why you and the others attacked the ship, isn't it? You knew there was a dragon in there. You knew that it was trapped," her brow furrowed. Years ago Stoick would have pointed out the distinct line in her forehead. "There were more of those traps down there. Whoever was on that ship wanted to capture more dragons…but why?"


	44. Let Hiccup be Hiccup

**Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this next chapter. I would really appreciate any and all feedback, as I love hearing from my readers.**

 **Also, I have a new one-shot up, entitled: The Breaking Point. I hope it satisfies your Hiccstrid needs!**

* * *

"Okay, you see that tub of water over there?" Gobber nodded off towards the direction of a metal tub. Hiccup, holding the red-hot nail as far away from himself as possible, shook his head anxiously. His body quivered, making the tongs in his hand vibrate. The nail wobbled precariously.

"Careful now, if you drop it we need to start all over again…again," Gobber, trying to sound as patient as possible, patted the boy on his back. Hiccup stumbled forward, nearly losing his footing with a squeaky gasp. Fortunately for him Gobber was there to grab his shirt. He lifted the boy up, spinning him around to face him.

An eight-year-old face, long and narrow and freckled greeted him. Hiccup's eyes were wide in alarm, only to squint up as he showed a gapped tooth, sheepish grin.

"S-sorry, Gobber," he said nervously.

Gobber rolled his eyes, depositing the boy back onto the forge's floor while relieving him of dumping duty. He dunked the orange nail into the water, releasing a plume of steam. Hiccup watched, his mouth set in a perfect oval.

"There, one nail," Gobber lifted the tongs out, admiring his handiwork. "We only need about two hundred more of these and this one took a grand total of…three hours."

"I know, I know it did," Hiccup slumped away to the tiny corner he has claimed as his own. He perched on his stool, the heel of his palm digging into his cheek. His boots, too big for him, fell off of his feet to the floor. He didn't even look to acknowledge them. "When's Dad coming back again?"

"What, are you bored?"

"No! No, I'm not bored…" he rubbed the back of his head, a nervous habit that Gobber noticed the boy developed, "I'm just not very good at…this."

"Baldur's belly Hiccup, you've spent a week with me in here and you're about to give up?"

"Well…yeah."

Gobber took off his one glove and tossed it onto his workbench.

"How old are you again?"

Hiccup squinted in confusion, "I'm…eight…you don't-?"

"Of course I remember how old you are muttonhead, I just wanted _you_ to remember." Gobber sat down on his own stool, ignoring the creaking of the wooden legs in distress, "You're an eight-year-old kid, but there are other eight-year-old kids here on this island…do you see any of them working in here?"

The boy raised an eyebrow in disgust, "You'd want Snotlout working in here?"

"Only when Hel freezes over...don't tell your dad I cursed in front of you. No, you're the only one I want working in here, the only one I trust working in here—"

"You have to say that, you're my uncle-"

"Not by blood though. Besides," he rustled Hiccup's mop of auburn hair. "Between you and me, you're the smartest of the lot…eh maybe the Ingerman boy is close, but you have a curious mind. Anyway, you've only been working in here for a week; do you think I mastered everything in a week when I started? And that was _before_ the hook!" He nudged Hiccup's belly with the curved edge of the hook, making him giggle.

"Okay, okay!" Hiccup squealed, nearly toppling backward in his stool. "I don't like making you mad though…"

"Eh, you didn't burn anything down…yet…"

"Hey!"

* * *

"Oh come on," Hiccup yanked on the sack behind him, grunting with effort. Gobber had sent him off to gather some scrap metal that someone had offered, but the job now required him lugging it back to the forge. "Can you just move? Please?"

He glanced around, hoping that no one was staring. Off beside one of the cottages, there was a wheelbarrow. Grinning with delight, Hiccup abandoned his parcel and scurried over to the wheelbarrow.

"My lucky day," he sang, nudging it free. A sniff interrupted him before a pair of intense blue eyes sent him jumping backward in alarm. "Gah!"

Though his heartbeat steadied, it quickly accelerated again as he recognized the cerulean eyes.

"Ah-Astrid! Hi Astrid, hi. Hey."

The girl lifted her head slightly, to reveal a scowl on the other side of the wheelbarrow tray.

"Uh…sorry…I didn't know anyone…that you would be…behind the uh…yeah, I'll just leave it."

Her eyes were watery, her button nose runny and red.

"Hey…are you…okay?"

Another sniff.

"No," came the curt response.

"What's the…" he took a step forward, only to take two backward, "Uh…matter?"

"Other than you spying on me?"

"Spying? Who's spying? Me? I'm not…I'm not…" he gestured grandly in front of him, "Wheelbarrow!"

Astrid wiped at her eyes before standing up. Despite her being the smallest of the other children, she was still half a head taller than Hiccup. He winced, ready to face the wrath of her infamous fist. Instead, her lower lip trembled.

"Uncle Finn's gone," she muttered. Hiccup hadn't realized that her hair was down. He gulped.

"Gone…as in…he… _died_?"

"What? No stupid…you're the Chief's son, don't you know anything?" Annoyance replaced sadness in her eyes. "The Flightmare came…and he told me he was gonna beat it…but he didn't. He…froze," Astrid growled, "And now everyone is laughing at us, at my family. They're saying things like we're afraid or that we'll freeze. Uncle Finn left and he wouldn't tell us where he was going and Dad doesn't even care…"

"And…you care?"

"He ruined my family's name," she huffed. "He…he ruined…" Her sad eyes narrowed into a glare. "Don't you have somewhere else to go?"

"But I-" Hiccup stammered, his cheeks turning hot, "Yeah…sure…"

He walked around her at a wide arc to retrieve the wheelbarrow. It took every ounce of his strength to lift the sack of scrap metal up onto the tray, but he was so relieved he barely felt drained.

"Oh…Astrid?"

She had already turned away, "What?"

"I'm sorry-"

"Sorry for what? My family's shame? My uncle's fear?"

"No…I'm sorry that you're missing someone you love. I…I know what that's like. That's all."

* * *

Two years ago, Hiccup had accidentally dropped his beloved stuffed dragon over the side of a fishing boat during a summer excursion with his father. He had cried, wailed actually, half tempted to jump into the ocean itself in an attempt to retrieve it, only to be held back by Stoick. His father had been angry, furious even, before his anger melted into forlornness. Hiccup couldn't understand it, not until several days later when he realized it was because that toy had been one of the few remaining items attached to his mother. Hiccup had asked to see the others, but Stoick had simply responded: not now, wait until you're older.

Two years later, and Hiccup would still find himself reaching for the toy in the middle of the night.

Two years later, and Hiccup still hadn't seen the artifacts of his mother.

Waking up to emptiness beside him, Hiccup sighed, drawing his hand back atop his chest. He had dreamt of Astrid Hofferson, of actually playing with her in a friendly childhood way. They were on the beach building a sand village. She had been laughing. She was pretty when she wasn't angry. She looked like Mrs. Hofferson, who was often in a bad mood…though sometimes she would share a sad, secret smile with Hiccup.

With a yawn, Hiccup turned over to return to sleep, only to frown.

He couldn't hear Gobber snoring.

He instead heard whispers.

Climbing out of his bed, Hiccup tiptoed to his door. The rafters were shrouded in shadows as the fire in the hearth died down, save for an eerie orange glow in the center of the room. Hiccup crawled over his threshold, then slid on his belly until just his eyes and nose peeked through the balusters of the railing.

Pacing around the hearth, was his father.

"Dad…" Hiccup gasped, his grin spreading…only to fall as his father's voice carried up to him.

"They're gone Gobber, all of them."

Gobber held his head in his hand, "Gods…how did you-?"

"I don't know, another second and I-"

"Don't think about that, you're home. That's what matters. Now, do you think this…er…what's his name?"

"Bludvist…and I don't know. After seeing _that_ …" Stoick paused, "No, I'll inform the council, but I'm not declaring war. Not when he has those…monsters at his command."

"Monsters…" Hiccup whispered in an echo.

A chair scraped against the floor: Stoick had sat down: "How's Hiccup?"

"Still in one piece mostly, as is my forge."

"I'm sorry you had to keep him busy there-"

"Ah no worries, the kid has some skill. I mean, he's still a kid, but he's pretty bright."

"How many questions did he ask?"

"A thousand just in one morning."

Stoick chuckled, low and deep and sad.

"Gods he's like Valka."

Hiccup straightened at the mention of his mother. Most talk about his mother was about her taking or absence, not about her when she was _alive_.

"There's a bit of you in there too, not his humor though. That's all her."

Hiccup smiled, confused as to why tears were rolling into his eyes. He considered running back into his room, retrieving some paper and a pencil to jot down notes, but the conversation continued.

"I'm glad he found something to do. You know how…destructive he can be."

"He's a sharp kid. Imaginative. Curious…like his mother."

"Aye, but you remember what everyone said about her…yourself included-"

"Hey, I made amends, remember?"

"I just don't want the same thing happening to him."

"Which part?"

"All of it, Gobber."

"Valka was proud of her ways though Stoick. That's all that matters. She wasn't ashamed."

"I know…but she had Ursula to help her through it…who does Hiccup have?"

"He has you-"

"For how long though? Besides, I'm not like Ursula. I'm not patient-"

"No, but you loved Valka all the same."

Silence. Hiccup leaned in closer, freezing as the wood beneath his palm creaked, but no one addressed the disturbance. He was almost certain that one of them had fallen asleep, until—

"Do you think I should marry again?"

Hiccup's gasp was muted by Gobber's boisterous laugh. Stoick had to shush him.

"You make it sound like a chore!"

"Well, a duty-"

"I seem to recall you telling me that marriage should be out of happiness, not duty, at least when it came to a skinny, auburn-haired minx."

"If it meant that Hiccup would be happy-"

"You think he's not happy?" Gobber spoke before Hiccup had the chance to protest. "He seems pretty happy to me."

"He's not…lonely? I know the other kids-"

"Hey, he's got an imagination on him. Hard for a kid to be lonely with that…besides, who would you marry? Phlegma? She's a dedicated shield maiden…plus I don't picture her to be of the wifely stock."

"What about that Una girl?"

"Una? You mean the one that's been fawning over the Ack boy since they were two? Eh, nope." Hiccup could hear his father sigh, could hear the scraping of Gobber's peg leg across the floor. "I know it hurts Stoick, I know how much you miss her…but marrying someone you don't love isn't going to help you. You and Valka were made for each other; any other marriage is just going to be a reminder of that. Besides…Hiccup's fine. You don't need to marry for his sake. He'll come into his own."

Another sigh, followed by the sound of Stoick's feet on the floor.

"You're right, as usual. It wouldn't be fair to the boy, or to Valka's memory…but I still worry."

"I've heard parenthood can do that-"

"What if I…betroth Hiccup?"

"What?" Gobber laughed and Hiccup gasped at the same time. Hiccup scooted back into his room, ready to jump back into bed, but no one came. "He's only eight."

"Yes, but both Ruffnut and Astrid's mothers are alive. If I betroth Hiccup to one of them, then he'll be a part of their family as well. He'll have that missing piece-"

Hiccup gagged at the thought of marriage. He pressed his fist against his mouth to suppress his disgust.

"Midgard to Stoick, I just reminded you that you said a marriage should be made out of happiness. You betrothing him would be tying him down. He wouldn't get to make that choice, and he'd be miserable because of it. He's too much like Valka for that, too free-spirited."

"So what would you recommend then?"

"Just let Hiccup be Hiccup. Let him make his own choices and suffer the consequences. You can't keep making every decision for him Stoick."

"I can if it means he's safe."

* * *

Stoick pressed a finger against Hiccup's bedroom door, opening it silently. He knew it was late, but he couldn't not see his son, not after everything that had happened—that had almost happened to him. A shiver came over his body as he recalled the heat of the fire. There had been nothing left to set to the sea. By the time the flames had died down, Stoick couldn't even recognize one chieftain from another. He expected the screams to haunt him for years…

Shaking his head, he stepped over to besides Hiccup's bed. His tiny body was curled up on his side beneath the wool of his blanket. His hair had fallen into his eyes—Stoick must give this boy a trim. With the back of his hand, he brushed the strands out of the way, noticing how Hiccup's lip curled slightly at the touch. Despite knowing the risks, Stoick kissed Hiccup's freckled cheek, inhaling the sweet scent of his youth. Fire and metal, mixed with fresh air and sea breeze.

"Goodnight son," he whispered, tugging the blanket up a bit higher. He exited the room as silently as he had entered it, pausing at the railing to check on Gobber's sleeping form. Their conversation had been long and, at times, heated…but as senseless as his friend could be at times, Stoick could hear the wisdom in his words. Of course Stoick couldn't marry again, he'd be miserable, and then Hiccup would be miserable. And of course Stoick couldn't betroth Hiccup; that was not how things were done now. No, when the time came Hiccup would make his own choice and the proper procedures would follow. It was what Stoick had had, and he was insistent that his son would have the same.

In the morning, he would sit Gobber and Hiccup down at the table, and propose that Hiccup begin to work in the forge. Part-time for now, and surely not around any of the more dangerous objects. He could sweep and clean, write down orders, and be useful. Three days a week should do it, should be enough for him to spend his creative energies. The other days Hiccup would have to himself to be, well, Hiccup. Stoick made a mental reminder to take the boy fishing; it had been a while since they had done that. They would talk about Valka, about life, about being a Viking.

They would talk and, more importantly, Stoick would listen.


	45. Son of Eret

Valka crouched behind an outcrop of rocks, having slid down the snowy slope undetected. Through the eyeholes of her mask she could see a tiny trapper outpost, about twenty fur covered tents on the edge of a glacier. Tied off further down was the boat…a smaller one than most that faced her wrath, but from the way Cloudjumper had snarled just moments ago when they had landed, she knew that there were dragons trapped onboard.

She ducked back down behind the rocks and removed her mask. It had evolved over the months of her vigilante work, yet it continued to remain uncomfortable. Still, it was a necessity for her to remain anonymous. Let them see her as an unearthly entity, rather than a person. Humans were weak, humans were vulnerable, and Valka could be neither.

Up the slope behind her, four dragon heads poked out from their hiding places. Valka rolled her eyes: the adolescent Nightmares were her tagalongs, though they were anything but stealthy.

"North! _North!_ Stop biting South! Stop it!"

The cyan female purred innocently. South snarled, smoke rising from his nostrils.

"Cloudjumper, keep them under control or so help me!" Valka hissed, knowing that anything the Storm Cutter tried would be met with teenage rebellion. Valka turned her attention back to the base, formulating a plan in her mind.

The dragons were bright against this icy landscape, so they would wait for the cover of darkness. They had time: the trappers on the shore were lazing around. No one even glanced at the boat. Valka wondered what they had planned for the dragons on board; she had yet to figure that out. There were different groups of so-called dragon trappers, yet they all seemed to be working for one common goal, for one leader…but who?

Valka relaxed as best as she could. Her legs were growing stiff while her hands could not keep still. She had been doing this for three years now, and though she knew the routine by heart she could not help but feel sickeningly nervous.

What if something went wrong? What if a dragon got hurt, or worse?

She would never be able to shake the memory of the Thornridge lost to the waves. It haunted her on every scouting mission, on every rescue. She had practiced her methods dozens of times now, had figured out the weaknesses of the traps…but the guilt would always be palpable.

* * *

"Watch out now son, you don't want to knock your brains out."

Eret ducked beneath the metal log, part of a new underwater trap that Drago had issued. Inside the hollow tube was a net made out of the thinnest metal chains, almost invisible to dragon eyes. It was perfect for catching Scauldrons or Seashockers…perhaps even a Thunderdrum. He turned, eyes wide in amazement as he watched his father and Wulf drop the metal log into the frigid water, securing it with picks in the ice. He could hear the sound of the metal net dropping—Drago had some of the world's finest inventors and smithies…but it took a true trapper to actually collect a dragon.

"Do you think we'll see one Dad?" Eret ran up to his father excitedly.

His father, Eret the Elder, ruffled his son's dark hair.

"The sea beasts like to swim at night. We might not see one, but we'll probably hear them."

Eret beamed with pride. His father was Drago's head trapper, a title he fought hard for and earned. Age had not slowed the elder Eret down: he was a strong and quick as he ever. There was gray in his dark eyebrows now, and lines around his almost black eyes, but Eret the Elder was a force to be reckoned with…and his son wanted to be just like him.

"Eret, sir," Wulf began, "Do you want to set out the second one?"

"Let's make sure this one works first. Besides, we need to wait for the reinforcements to come. We're full enough as it is; any more dragons and we'll have to leave men behind on this chunk of ice."

"Aye sir," Wulf nodded, flashing a smile at the younger Eret.

The boy straightened: despite his youth he was treated like royalty around the other trappers. His father had taken him on when he was eleven, after the passing of his mother. Now, two years later, Eret knew all of the inner workings of a trapper fleet. Rumor had it that even Drago was beginning to take notice in the boy's talents.

"It'll be dark soon," his father clasped a hand on his shoulder, "What do you say to supper?"

"Fish again?" Eret grimaced. His father laughed.

"Oh no my boy, your father got a special meal for you, just for this night."

" _Suovas_!?"

His father's grin was so wide, it made the blue stripe tattoos on his chin almost vanish. Eret practically ran back to their hut: he hadn't had _suovas_ in months. The dried reindeer meat was his favorite food back home. Every so often, when the pay was good, his father was able to procure some. He must have snuck some in on their last supply stop.

He sat cross-legged in their round makeshift hut on one of the furs. His father crawled in a moment later, the smile still on his face. Sure enough, the meat was tucked away in one of the many folds of his fur coat. He laid the delicacy out in between them, and nodded for Eret to eat.

It was minutes before they spoke.

"Son, I need to tell you something," the elder Eret began, "There's been talk amongst the ranks that, well, you're thirteen now. Practically a man. Word is that Drago is thinking of having you start a fleet of your own."

"What?" Eret gasped, mouth full of meat, his face shiny with grease.

"I agree that you're ready. Odin knows I can just look at you and you know what to do."

"But…we wouldn't be together then."

His father smiled sadly, "No. No we wouldn't."

Eret frowned. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry anymore.

"Do I get a choice?"

His father scooted closer to his son, propping a strong arm over his shoulders.

"You do, but it doesn't mean you get to make this choice again. Sometimes in life you only have one opportunity. Sometimes you're on a splitting sheet of ice and it's your choice to either go left or to go right. There are no do-overs, and no one else can make that decision for you."

"Drago wouldn't be happy if I said no, would he?"

Eret the elder remained silent, his strong jaw set.

"Why don't you sleep on it, eh? It's getting late."

The boy nodded, though now his mind was too full to sleep. He stood stiffly, the top of his head brushing against the canvas of their hut. His father always had to stoop.

"Oh, Eret?"

Their eyes met again as his father took something else out from one of the many folds of his furs. He extended a battle worn hand, striped with white scars. In his palm was a small iron medallion in the shape of an owl's face. He gestured for his son to take it.

"Really?" Eret's face reignited in joy.

"Aye. About time you had it. Passed down from the eldest son to the eldest son for three hundred years. You take care of it now, and then when you have your own brood, you pass it on to them."

Eret pinned the brooch onto the front of his furs, "What if I have twin sons?"

His father smirked, "We never had a set of twins in three hundred years. I don't think it'll happen."

Despite himself, Eret threw his arms around his father.

"I love you Dad."

"And I love you _bárdni_. Sleep well, I'll see you at first light."

Eret went off to his small fur pile in the far corner of the hut. He saw his father disappear through the flap back out into the elements. Though he felt his eyes growing heavy, Eret fiddled with his new trinket. Three hundred years of family history was now in his hands. He felt immensely honored. Drago's decision could wait: he had his father's pride and approval, and that was what really mattered after all.

* * *

The sound of the glacier rumbling roused him from his deep sleep. From the flap writhing in the wind, he could see that the fires had been extinguished, yet everything seemed to glow. He jumped up in excitement: was it a Flightmare? Another luminescent dragon breed? He searched for his knife, brandishing it with experienced fingers. In five large steps he crossed the stretch of the hut and was outside…

A wall of fire greeted him.

The heat and intensity was so strong it knocked him backwards. He bumped one of the poles, causing the hut to begin collapsing on itself. Eret dove for the safety of the hut, only for someone else to crash into him.

Wulf.

"Get out of here boy!" The side of Wulf's face was bloodied.

"Where's my Dad?" Eret cried. Wulf did not answer, but ran off.

No one was running towards the ship, where the bulk of their arsenal was…but why?

That's when he saw a great four winged beast emerging from the smoke that shrouded the boat. It unleashed a plume of fire upwards, catching the mast and sail aflame. Eret could see the dragons that they had captured, two Nadders, a young Zippleback, and three Gronckles emerge from the inferno, setting off into freedom. Overhead, four Monstrous Nightmares circled their camp like vultures, occasionally spewing off fire to cut off a man's exit.

The ice shifted beneath him.

"Oh no…"

Fissures emerged in the ice. Spines rose up from underneath, slicing through the surface as if it was nothing more than butter. The men scattered, their weapons rendered useless.

"ERET!"

Jumping up, Eret could finally see his father, waving men onto a currently safe path. Eret sheathed his knife, dancing along the ice, avoiding the cracks while ducking whenever a dragon came near. It was madness; a minute ago he had been fast asleep, but now?

"Dad!"

"Come on son!"

A dragon head shot up beside him, bringing up a jagged shard of ice. Eret dodged, overcompensating, rolling onto his arm. He felt something snap.

"GAH!"

"HANG ON!"

The ice he was coiled up on separated from the glacier. Eret, through his tears of pain, could see the spines of a Seashocker circling around him, creating an even larger gap. Eret couldn't feel his fingers in his left hand: it was broken, surely. Eret curled up into an even tighter ball, hoping that the dragon would leave him alone.

It was not to be.

"I've got you!"

The ice shook. Eret felt himself hoisted up in the air: his father was holding him.

"Dad!"

"Don't worry," his father said with a wink, though Eret knew better. His father was terrified.

Somehow, they managed to jump the gap, landing clumsily on the bulk of the glacier. The other men cheered, waving them on. Eret had his feet back on the surface, his good arm wrapped over his father's shoulders. They limped together.

"Dad, what happened?"

"Later, not now. Just keep going."

They were halfway to the other trappers when one of the Nightmares landed in front of them. A brilliant cyan color, the dragon's talons scraped against the ice, its jaws creaking open to reveal its jagged teeth. Eret the elder took out his sword. His jaw was set.

"Run son."

"Dad, no-"

"I'm so proud of you," his father said wistfully, "I will _always_ be proud of you. Now go."

"DAD!"

"GO! That's an order from your captain," his father practically growled. Eret felt his father push him away, out of the dragon's line of sight. As his father charged the dragon, Eret ran as quickly as he could towards the awaiting men, who pulled him in as soon as he was close enough.

"Where is he? I don't see him!" The boy cried, searching for his father. All he could see was that dragon, its body slithering around wildly. "Dad!"

A screech resonated across the ice. High above, the four-winged beast hovered, calling out to the dragons. Three of the Nightmares circled it, while the freed dragons already began gliding away. The ice beneath them steadied, the water grew placid once more.

To Eret's relief, the cyan Nightmare his father faced growled and flew off. His father was safe.

"DAD!" Eret would have started for him had it not been for the hands gripping his shoulders. Tears of relief were blinding him. He could see his father wave limply, staggering across the ice as though his bones had been replaced with steel. He was wounded yes, but he was alive.

"I'm coming," the fearless trapper called, a smile of disbelief on his face. The men all exhaled, watching as the last of the dragons vanished and as their leader trekked across the ice.

No one, not even Eret the elder, noticed the ice split beneath his feet.

By the time the men had reached the crack, he had been lost to the infinite black waters.


	46. Haddock Boys

**I love writing Smolcup.**

* * *

"Hiccup…"

The boy mumbled in his sleep, his long nose scrunching up as his fingers flexed. Stoick nudged him once more, tapping him on the shoulder, "Hiccup…?"

His son's nimble fingers curled up once more as he brought his hands close to his chest, as if he was holding that toy he had lost four years ago. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a small, sleepy smile. Any other day Stoick would have been content to just sit and watch the wonder that was his son, but not today. Today they were burning daylight.

With a smirk, Stoick sat on the edge of Hiccup's bed. His weight caused the thin mattress to sink down far enough for Hiccup to roll with a yelp into his father's back.

"Morning son!" Stoick beamed.

Hiccup blinked up at him groggily, his cheek scrunched against Stoick's leather vest.

"Why?" He grumbled.

"I'm guessing you forgot what today is…"

Hiccup propped himself up on one arm, his green eyes searching for an invisible answer.

"Um…probably a day where I _don't_ get to sleep in?"

Stoick clapped him on the back with a chuckle, causing Hiccup to lose his balance and fall face first into his mattress. "Ow."

"It's the Haddock Boys' Fishing Trip-"

"Fishing trip," Hiccup finished with a mumble, "Yay…"

Stoick raised an eyebrow, "You don't seem thrilled. I thought you liked our trips-"

"Yeah they're great Dad, it's just, you know-" Hiccup sat up. His feet still hovered over the floor. Stoick frowned, "They're not exactly successful, or end happily…"

"Ah, yes well, this time there'll be no troll hunting for you."

"I'm telling you I saw one!"

"You've been hanging around Gobber too much," Stoick muttered, "But no son. This year will be different. We're going out on a ship for some deep sea fishing!"

Though Hiccup smiled, Stoick could tell it was forced. It wasn't reaching his eyes. He looked pained. Stoick nodded, trying his best to remain positive. Hiccup was right: their fishing trips never ended well. The boy was too curious for his own wellbeing. Last year ended with Hiccup running off into the woods, almost falling to his death on the edge of a cove. The reason? He _saw_ a _troll_. Stoick had given Gobber an earful after that event. The year before that had been the rainiest day in the history of Berk, and both Hiccup and Stoick had been soaked to the bone and laid up sick for a week. Hiccup's cold had turned him feverish, and for a while Stoick thought he was going to lose him. Though when the boy's sarcasm returned, Stoick was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Not to mention the trip when he was six where he lost Valka's gift to the water. Yes, their fishing excursions were filled with unfortunate happenings.

That and they never caught any bloody fish.

But not this year. This year was bound to be different. This year, Stoick had a secret weapon.

He grinned knowingly as he left Hiccup to dress.

* * *

"Aaaand I'm done. Nope, no way, uh-uh. Goodbye," Hiccup had made it halfway down the dock before he caught sight of the two figures on the boat. He immediately turned on his heels and took long gangly steps back up the slope. His father managed to grab ahold of the scruff of his shirt, lifting him off of the planks until he was deposited right back where he started. Hiccup winced as his father placed his heavy arm around him, as a Hiccup-weight. There was no escape.

"Oy! Stoick! Are we setting off or what?"

The Haddock Boys' Fishing Trip…plus the Jorgensons.

"Why?" Hiccup glanced up at his father as they marched down the dock.

"Your Uncle Spitelout is an excellent fisherman, plus I needed another grown man on the ship with us. It was only fair to invite Snotlout along-"

"Not _really-_ "

"Plus, it'll be good for you to have some family time-"

"I keep forgetting that we're 'family,'" Hiccup managed to shrug off his father's arm right as they reached the gangplank. Stoick pressed Hiccup aboard, following closely behind so that he could not escape.

"Morning Spitelout, Snotlout."

"Morning Chief!" Snotlout, a pudgy-faced pig-nosed boy stood at attention as Stoick passed. He wasn't as round as Fishlegs, but he was still big and bulky. Well, most everyone was big at least compared to Hiccup. Snotlout liked to show off his muscles, as ill-shapen and childish as they were, as well as his strength. Hiccup began to rub his arm, already feeling the bruises forming beneath his skin; target practice was about all Hiccup was good for.

Hiccup kept close to his father, a difficult feat considering how quickly Stoick moved about the deck. Soon enough the boat was launched on placid waters beneath a sunny sky.

Figures. The day was perfect and Hiccup was stuck on a boat. He had roughly thirty feet of deck to roam around, to wear a track into from his restless pacing. Hiccup hated sitting still, not unless he was able to do something useful with his hands in harmony with his mind. Sometimes he had nuts, bolts, screws, and gears in his pocket that he could fiddle with. Other times he was accompanied by his little sketchbook and a pencil. Unfortunately for him he had forgotten his sketchbook at home, though he had no doubt that his father would have chastised him for bringing it along anyway. There wasn't much anyone could do with a fishing pole; he couldn't make changes or advancements to it. He sighed, finally settling down cross-legged at the bow, feeling the wind rustle through his hair. He smiled slightly: he always liked that sensation. It was the only part of sailing he liked.

Another reason for having the moniker the village weirdo.

With a sigh, Hiccup found a small deposit of dirt between the planks and drew a circle on his hand. He wondered if, by the end of their excursion, he would develop a new freckle in the middle of that circle. Odin knows he was covered in them from head to toe. Someone once told him that his father was just as freckled when he was a young boy, though Hiccup could hardly believe it: he could hardly believe that he shared any similarities with his father.

Instead, he chose to believe that his freckles were kisses from his mother.

The more freckles he had, the more time her spirit had been with him.  
He needed that comforting thought right now.

"It was about here when we saw that arrow," his father said suddenly.

"Aye. The beacon."

The two adults cast their lines in silence.

Arrow? Beacon? What were they talking about?

"Hey Screw-up," the nasally voice of his cousin made Hiccup's spine stiffen, "It's fish time."

* * *

Lundy wants to have you over for supper," Spitelout called over his shoulder after about twenty minutes of silence. Hiccup glanced up at his father, reading his expression, hoping that he would said that he was too busy. Instead, Stoick smiled.

"Let me know when. What is she planning on cooking?"

"Meatballs. Mum's old recipe."

"Ah," the smile faded. Hiccup didn't understand: were his grandmother's meatballs bad?

"She said she could make something else if you wanted-"

"No, meatballs are fine. If she makes extras I'll send them Gobber's way."

Spitelout snickered, "I don't think he's had a meatball in almost eleven years."

Stoick's grin returned, "Aye, I think she scarred him for life."

"Who did?" Hiccup asked before either man could speak.

The silence was deafening.

* * *

"What do you mean I need to be older to go to training!?"

Hiccup switched the hand he was propped against, his cheek burning from being pressed into his palm for several minutes. He rolled his eyes, desperately trying to will a fish to nibble on his line to break up the argument.

"We've been over this boy: you need to be at least fourteen to enter the ring!"

"But why!?"

"Oh for Thor's sake— _Stoick_?"

"Didn't your father ever tell you what happened to Link Underfoot?"

"Who's Link Underfoot?" Hiccup asked.

"Wasn't he that scrawny kid that Astrid's uncle killed?" Snotlout responded.

"Finn didn't-" Stoick's brow furrowed, "You really never told him?"

"Told him what?" Hiccup spoke louder.

"I did tell him, but he hears what he wants to hear, you know that!"

"DAD!" Hiccup had lost his patience. He was desperate for knowledge. "What happened to Link Underfoot? Why doesn't Gobber like meatballs? What arrow? What beacon?

"What?"

Stoick glanced down at his son, his eyes widening.

"So _you_ never told _him_ huh?" Spitelout sneered from across the deck. Even Snotlout sat with a perplexed expression, glancing back and forth between the two men.

Stoick sighed, "Hiccup-"

"Is this about Mom?"

"Another time Hiccup-"

"No, you say that. You always just say that and then you don't tell me anything!" Hiccup stood up. He was still lower than eye level even with his father seated, "I want to know about her!"

All eyes fell to Stoick, waiting for his response.

Instead, the man turned back to the open water, waiting quietly for a fish to bite.

It never did.

* * *

The moment the fishless brigade reached the shore, Hiccup ran off in tearful anger. It didn't make any sense. It wasn't fair. Why wouldn't his father answer his questions? No one talked about his mother except for her final moments on Berk. Why? Was her death the only moment of her life that mattered? Did _he_ matter?

Still small enough to slip by undetected, Hiccup found his way to the empty forge. He didn't know where Gobber was, but all he wanted right now was solitude.

There was a small shack attached to the forge. Once, it had been a place for Gobber to sleep during busy nights, but ever since Hiccup started working at the forge it had become his makeshift office space…or, as Gobber would call it, his "outta the way before you catch yourself on fire," space. He closed the ill-fitting door and sat down at his desk. He grabbed one of his pencils and furiously scribbled on a blank page of a notebook. Gray and black spirals and jagged lines appeared, leaving their rubbings on Hiccup's hand and wrist. Eventually, the brittle paper gave way, leaving a large hole in the middle. Hiccup sighed, slamming the book shut and tossing the pencil over his shoulder. He laid his head down in his arms and tried to control his breathing.

He glanced down at his hand, and the faded brown circle.

No new freckles.

* * *

He woke up with a pencil beneath his cheek. Groggy, Hiccup groaned as he sat up, rubbing the indentation. He had no idea what time it was, but he knew that he was hungry.

His father was waiting for him outside the door.

"Gah!" Hiccup jumped at seeing the massive man blocking his exit, "Dad! What are you doing-?"

"Your mother was an awful cook."

"What?"

"You wanted to know why Gobber hates meatballs, so I'm telling you. It's because your mother was an awful cook," Stoick plopped down on the dirt, his back resting against the doorframe. "Your grandmother tried to teach her, but she could never get it right. I didn't mind though, I never did."

"Oh."

One of Stoick's fingers began to trace lines in the soot. He didn't look at Hiccup.

"I told myself years ago that I would talk to you about your mother, but every time I tried I-" he cleared his throat, glancing away. With a shuddering breath he continued, "It's not fair for a boy to not know about his own mother. I had mine when I was a boy, but you…" he chuckled sadly, "You probably can't even remember her face can you? You were so young…"

"Gobber says I look like her," Hiccup knelt beside his father, his fingers scraping through the dirt.

"Aye, you do. She was as skinny as willow branches. Some days I wondered if the wind would pick her up and carry her away," he frowned, "Guess I was right."

"You don't…you don't have to tell me stuff Dad. It's okay. I'm fine."

"What do you want to know?"

 _Everything,_ Hiccup thought.

"Anything," Hiccup said.

Stoick smirked halfheartedly, rustling his son's hair.

"How about the time she nearly scared me to death by dangling upside down from a tree?"

* * *

"And I gave her this before our wedding, as a betrothal gift."

Hiccup eyed the medallion with heavy-lidded eyes. Their conversations had transpired from the forge to their house, from late afternoon to early morning. Stoick had found a few mementos, some of the sacred objects that Valka had spared from the inferno. Hiccup was desperate to stay awake, but every time Stoick suggested that they stop Hiccup would stubbornly insist that he was fine.

 _Just like Valka,_ Stoick thought sadly.

"But aren't betrothal-" Hiccup unleashed a mighty yawn, "gifts given earlier?"

"I decided to break tradition a little. We didn't have a long betrothal. I couldn't stand not being married to your mother any longer," Stoick smiled at the memory of Valka walking towards him on their wedding day, "One day, when you have an intended of your own, you can give this to her."

"Do I have to get married?"

"You might not—I never thought I would, but your mother came along and changed everything."

Hiccup put his head on Stoick's lap—an act he hadn't done since he was a little boy.

"Do you think she'd like me?" He mumbled softly.

"Of course she would. She loved you with all of her heart—why would you think that?"

He shrugged his shoulders limply, "No one else really likes me."

"Son-"

"It's okay Dad," Hiccup's eyes were closed, "I'm used to it."

With that, Hiccup had drifted off to sleep. The features of his face softened, reverting Hiccup back to an almost babyish appearance. Stoick exhaled, cautious not to move too much lest Hiccup wake. His poor boy: he was not blind to the way the village seemed to ignore him. He was always by himself unless Stoick or Gobber was with him. He was so much, almost too much like Valka, except for one thing:

Hiccup wanted to kill dragons.


	47. Where Are You?

Hi everyone! I know it's been a while...during the day I am a teacher so you can imagine my life gets pretty busy. On top of that, I also had a difficult time producing this chapter, but I am finally, _finally_ done with it!

Please read, comment, and enjoy!

* * *

 ***Warning: possible triggers ahead***

The island had been her home for nearly eleven years, and during that time Valka was able to rummage around for anything she could need. The dragons brought her gifts, she had a garden, she made her clothes, and there was plenty of fish to eat…most of the time she had enough supplies to care for the injured dragons she rescued.

But not this time.

"Shh...Shh…you're alright, you'll be okay."

Beneath her quivering fingertips, North was trembling in a fevered state. Her cyan scales had dulled, turning a sallow white along her belly and her shoulder blade, where her injuries were most prominent. Her amber eyes, once so alert and intelligent, were clouded over. Milky white foam was dribbling from her mouth as she panted, her chest rising and falling, yet unable to retain air. It was unlike any wound Valka had ever seen.

Mercy hovered over her daughter, purring sadly in a feeble attempt at comfort. Mercy had had other broods over the years, but had always retained a maternal love for all of her hatchlings. Valka had laughed in disbelief years ago when she discovered just how deep a dragon's mother love went: they were just as devoted as the day they were hatched.

North squealed in agony, her body writhing. Valka bit her lip, feeling the line between her brows. The precocious dragon had returned from a week long disappearance, carried on the back of a Seashocker. How the dragon was still alive was beyond Valka's comprehension, but the whole nest had gone into a flurry of anxious activity the moment she arrived. A swarm had formed overhead, circling around the spires of mossy rock. The nest was concerned, but only Valka seemed to know the depth of North's injuries; after all…a dragon's innards were supposed to stay inside the body, weren't they?

North screeched, her pupils thinning to a mere speck in her amber eyes. Valka's blood stained hands rose to her lips to force back the scream she longed to unleash.

Cloudjumper sensed her distress and rested his head against her. Mercy licked her daughter's neck with a feeble cry. Even the alpha Bewilderbeast raised his broad head to inspect the dire scene.

All at once, North's body seized uncontrollably before tightening into a thrashing coil. Her final breath was a yelp of anguish, before she stilled and was silent.

The nest released itself from its frenzied state and returned to normalcy…but the dragons huddling around Valka remained in somber silence.

Mercy continued to nudge her daughter, whimpering softly as if in song. East, West, and South…Mercy's brothers clacked their jaws in a language foreign to Valka's ears, while Cloudjumper provided his head for Valka to cry upon. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Who could have done such a thing?

"Oh Mercy…"

The matriarch Nightmare glanced up at Valka.

If dragons could cry there wouldn't be a lake deep enough to hold her sorrow.

Valka had questions, and she knew what she had to do.

* * *

They left the next afternoon while the sun was still high. Valka donned her mask to protect her face from the icy air and wrapped herself in as many furs as she could manage. She sat on Cloudjumper's shoulders to absorb his warmth and to steady her nerves. She had been living as a ghost for the past ten years…it was time to emerge from beyond the veil for just a short while.

She should have gone sooner, should have sought out the answers to her questions earlier. Maybe then North would still be alive and Mercy would not be a grieving mother. Dragons had come to her with injuries: some she could identify as wounds from other dragons in typical nesting habits…but others had been caused by weapons. Most had been superficial, things she could identify: a slice from a sword or an ax, a crushed foot from a hammer…but lately the wounds had become graver, and Valka had never seen devastation like she had on North.

If humans caused the harm, then humans had the answers.

Valka let Cloudjumper lead them to the closest village, nestled on the shores of a mountainous island speckled with red trees. They landed under the cover of darkness before creeping up for a closer look. Valka heard laughter and singing coming from a tavern, could see small figures darting about by the central fire before being whisked away by taller figures. Her stomach clenched in anxiety.

"Calm down Val," she whispered, removing her mask and her furs, "You're human too."

Cloudjumper clacked his jaw at her as she adjusted her skirts. It had been a decade since she wore her Berk clothes: they felt loose around her curves. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Her fingers trembled as she latched a cloak around her shoulders and pulled her braids into a sensible knot at the nape of her neck. She quickly found a patch of lavender that she rubbed over herself to mask the scent of beasts. Cloudjumper sniffed at her, wary.

"Just for an hour, my friend," she stroked his cheek, "I'll come right back."

He grumbled, huffing into her hair.

"I'm protected," she gestured to her boot, where she hid a dagger—spoils from a rescue weeks ago, "And I'll call if I need you. Trust me."

With that, she snuck down the slope and left her dearest companion to wait in the darkness.

* * *

Valka nearly vomited at the scent of ale. Ten years without that smell in her life and the tavern was saturated in the stench. Every surface was sticky with, what she hoped was, spilled drinks. Ample bosomed barmaids scurried around with giant mugs overflowing, dodging the wandering fingers of drunk patrons. One man punched another square in the jaw for interrupting his flirtations with a girl, sending the two brawling out into the village square.

 _Humans,_ Valka thought, _so stupidly primitive._

Noticing the curious eyes, Valka reminded herself to walk upright.

She squeezed her way up to the bar, settling in between a couple deep in conversation, and a dark-haired man with a raspberry colored scar along his cheek.

The barkeep approached her, his expression flat as if this was the most boring evening.

"Drink?"

"Uh…just a water?" Valka squeaked.

The barkeep raised a bushy eyebrow: "Don't got it. You want water, go to the well out back."

"A mead then…small, please."

He rolled his eyes and poured her a pint of mead. Valka sipped it before her tongue recoiled at the taste. Her face must have been amusing, as the man beside her chuckled.

"Klub here makes a good mead don't he?"

Valka pushed the mug away, "Uhhuh, it's...very…strong."

"They don't have good mead where you're from?"

"Oh, no they do," Valka felt the warmth of memories rejuvenate her. Sipping honey mead before the fire with Stoick tangled up beside her…

She jerked her head: _snap out of it._

"I'm just not much of a drinker."

"That's rare around these parts."

"Well, I'm not from around here."

"I figured that. Where ya from?"

"I grew up on Berk-" Valka began rashly, "But I haven't been there in years."

"Berk huh? Haven't set foot there. Nice place?"

"Lovely."

"I'll add it to my list. Who should I say sent me?"

"Oh…no one will remember me," she fibbed, feeling her heart pounding. _Think first before you speak, dummy_!

"A pretty face like yours, I highly doubt that."

Scarlet. Valka's face turned pure scarlet. The man smirked.

"I take it you don't hear compliments much."

"It's…been quite a while."

The man extended his hand. It was the hand of a worker, brown and rough. "Wulf, son of Wharf."

Valka took it and shuddered: _human contact_.

"Ursula."

She didn't realize she had yet to let go of his hand. He stared at her until she retracted.

"So…" Valka began, inconspicuously wiping her palm on her hip, "Do you live here?"

"I have for about a year now. I used to be a sailor," he gestured to his scar, "Boss made me leave."

"I'm sorry…was that a punishment?"

"My scar? No, this came from the reason my boss made me leave. The one my boss gave me is much worse, believe me."

"Odin…he sounds like a brute."

"Yeah well, you kind of have to be to trap dragons."

"Trap dragons?" Valka felt the chill of the night air penetrate her. She shivered.

Wulf leaned forward, his lips curling back in a whisper: "Have you ever heard of Drago Bludvist?"

It took all of her strength to not give the man a matching scar on his other cheek. She was not going to sacrifice her good fortune. She shook her head: "No."

"You will one day soon, believe me. The man is half man, half beast…he can _control_ the dragons."

"What!"

"Shh…yeah, he's unstoppable. His enterprise is small right now, but he has plans. Huge plans."

"Was he your boss, this Drago?"

"Yeah. Scariest guy on Midgard but it paid well. Solid pay plus extra for rare breeds. My old captain, Eret, he got us extra silver for bringing in this old egg…I thought the thing was rotten but the boss really wanted it. Don't know why, but a coin is a coin so I didn't complain."

"So, Drago doesn't kill the dragons?"

"Just the ones that don't submit. He's brilliant too; I was used to seeing dragons being hunted with axes and swords, but he has these weapons built that look like something Tyr would use in his battles. State of the art traps…I'm telling you, dragon raids will be a thing of the past."

"That sounds so…incredible," Valka smiled through gritted teeth. Painful as this was to hear she was thankful; the gods must have given her a merciful Hamingja tonight for finding this loose-lipped man.

"Where does this Drago operate from?"

"Nope. I can't tell you that, it's top secret," Wulf grinned, his eyes narrowing, "Though a kiss might convince me otherwise."

Valka pulled away as he leaned in. His breath was potent with ale, "I'm married."

"So am I-"

"Stop-"

Valka felt a vice around her wrist. He had her arm pinned to the counter.

She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "Let go of me-"

"You've been making eyes at me all night-"

"You're drunk-"

"You're beautiful-"

"Stop-"

His lips brushed against her neck. She could feel his teeth and the viscosity of his tongue. Valka leaned back as far as she could, fingers searching…

"Come on love, one kiss…"

"I SAID STOP!"

The blade of her concealed dagger dove into the back of Wulf's hand. She ripped her arm away, yelping at the burn from the friction; she'd have a bruise there for sure. Wulf shouted something incoherent at her, and Valka found herself the center of unwanted attention. Klub, the barkeeper, had already stepped out from behind his station and was making his way towards her.

Valka did what she does best: she ran.

Even at the age of thirty, she could still outrun any human.

Cloudjumper was ready for her, his amber eyes narrowed into agitated slits. Wincing with pain, Valka swung herself up onto his back, hardly having time to balance herself before they launched into the night sky.

* * *

The anxiety of her close call caused Valka to vomit when they reached the mountain. She scrubbed her neck with scalding hot water, before submerging herself into the frigid glacial waters. Try as she might, she could not erase the memory along with the touch.

But that was the least of her worries.

Valka wanted to curl up into a ball and wail. She wanted to throw every object in her possession against the walls of the caverns. She wanted to set the world on fire…but instead she picked up one of her precious pencils and wrote down what she knew. Cloudjumper watched as she paced back and forth, his eyes never leaving her. When she paused, he flexed his toes, preparing to rise to her side, only to settle back down when she continued.

Using a freshly molted Nadder spike she pinned the parchment to a crack in the cave wall.

"Drago Bludvist," she snarled, underlining the name. Beneath the shaky runes she made a list:

Trapper

Control

Weapons

Kill

Then, with a sigh, she made one final addition: Location unknown.

"Where are you, Drago Bludvist?"


End file.
